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1 


JEAN GILLES 

SCHOOLBOY 


BY 


ANDRE LAFON 


A WARDED THE GRAND PR IX DE LITTJ^RA TURE 
ACAD &M IE FRANQAISE 


TRANSLATED BY 

LADY THEODORA DAVIDSON 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON 
Zbc ‘Otnfcfterbocfter press 

1914 



Copyright, 1914 

BY 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 


SEP -5 I9i4 


■ffSe Knfclierbocfter pnte, «cw BotSi 



CI,A8Sn232 


evi-x.. 'V 


INTRODUCTION 


Extracts from an article entitled : The Grand Prix de 
Litter ature of 1912 

By the Translator 

Reprinted by kind permission of the Editor of the “ Fortnightly Review^* 



^HE award, for the first time, of the 


''Grand Prix de Litt6rature, '' founded 


Jl two years ago by the Academie Fran- 
gaise, constitutes the chief literary sensation 
of the year 1912 in Paris. 

For many years past, prizes of more or less 
value have been offered by private venture 
for the encouragement of literature . Although 
the system is doubtless open to criticism, 
it has achieved excellent results. To it we owe 
the recognition and fruition of several splen- 
did talents. Claude Farrere, Madame Andre 
Corthis, Abel Bonnard, Madame Marguerite 
Audoux, Madame Myriam Harry, Edmond 
Jaloux, are a few of those who have reason 


IV 


Introduction 


to felicitate themselves on the institution of 
the Prix Goncourt, and that offered by La 
Vie Heureuse. Both are worth two hundred 
pounds. The Grand Prix Gobert, given annu- 
ally for the best historical work, amounts to 
four hundred pounds. 

The Acad6mie suddenly awoke to the fact 
that its trivial recompenses of forty and sixty 
pounds were outbidden, ignored ; that, in con- 
sequence, its paramount influence in mat- 
ters literary was waning. Something had to 
be done. On the initiative of M. Thureau- 
Dangin, the new prize, of four hundred pounds, 
was founded and endowed from funds left 
over from a legacy. Its aim was defined by 
the august Forty in the following words: 
‘'Recompenser un roman, ou toute autre 
oeuvre dhmagination, en prose, d'un caractere 
eleve.'' The desire was expressed that the 
book should be of a high moral tone; the 
condition, that the reward should under no 
circumstances be divided; and the intention, 
that it should be given annually, if a work of 
sufficient distinction appeared. 


Introduction 


V 


Last year the rival merits of Charles P6guy, 
an original thinker, a master of style, and of 
Louis de Robert, the most touching of emo- 
tional writers, presented a problem the Acad6- 
mie found itself unable to solve. The result 
was that no award was made. 

This year no such negative course could be 
countenanced, under pain of drawing ridicule 
upon the newly instituted prize. 

Grave and exhaustive weie the deliberations 
of the judges — poignant the suspense of the 
aspirants. The condition that candidates 
should not present themselves, but that the 
Acad6mie should select the competitors for 
its favour, left a field as wide as France itself, 
and greatly enhanced the excitement. 

Writers there were in plenty whose feet were 
already placed on the ladder of fame. The 
Academie was fully alive to their claims, but 
its desire was rather to distinguish some new 
author, to discover some hitherto unrecognised 
talent. 

A committee of the most illustrious among 
contemporary litterateurs was appointed to 


VI 


Introduction 


make the initial selection. It was composed 
of the Comte d'Haussonville, Ernest Lavisse, 
Paul Hervieu, Jules Claretie, Paul Bourget, 
Pierre Loti, Rene Bazin, Maurice Barres, and 
Marcel Prevost; the five latter rank as the first 
novelists of France. 

Numerous works were subjected to the 
critical, scrutiny of the members, and finally, 
M. Maurice Barrds was deputed by his col- 
leagues to draw up a report for the Academic. 

Again P6guy was a hot favourite. Rumour 
had it that the first, the epoch-making award, 
was to fall into his eminently deserving hands. 
But on the great day a member rose, and with 
all the persuasive force of polished oratory, 
pleaded the cause of a youthful, unknown 
usher of a country college, who, he said, had 
produced a work perfect in tone, insight, and 
delicate charm. 

Andre Lafon, the author of VEleve Gillest 
had only just been made aware that his book 
was under consideration. 

Emile Ollivier and Maurice Barres con- 
ducted the campaign in such masterly fashion 


Introduction 


vii 


that the prize, which had been almost within 
the grasp of Charles Peguy, again eluded him. 
^‘Scrutin, and a powerful majority, ratified 
the selection, and P6guy had to console himself 
with a lesser recompense. 

And what of the hitherto obscure author 
who awoke one morning in his suburban col- 
lege to find the great crown of the year rest- 
ing, unsought, unexpected, upon his shrinking 
brow? 

Andre Lafon, the only child of middle-class 
parents, was born at Blaye, twenty-seven 
years ago. Reverses of fortune compelled him 
to interrupt the course of his education at the 
early age of fifteen, and enter a house of busi- 
ness as a clerk. Though he did his best, he 
disliked the life, and was unable to settle down 
in the line Fate seemed to have chosen for him. 
His whole heart was in literature. He con- 
tinued his studies at night and at every spare 
moment. At the end of seven years of hard, 
solitary toil, his perseverance received its 
reward. He took a University degree, and 
initiated his scholastic career with an appoint- 


viii Introduction 

ment as repetiteur, or what we should term 
usher, in his former school at Blaye. Thence 
he passed successively in the same capacity to 
a school at Bordeaux, and to the Lycee Car- 
not. Finally, he joined the staff of the Col- 
lege de Sainte Croix, at Neuilly, near Paris, 
as prefet. This office does not exist in any 
other school in France. A prefet is practically 
the superintendent of the boys' morals and 
amusements; a sort of ‘‘boy's friend." As 
such, he must be present in the dormitory 
and at recreations, as well as during prepa- 
ration hours ; he escorts his pupils to museums 
and galleries, reads the news of the day to 
them, and is always at hand to answer ques- 
tions or administer advice and assistance. 

Lafon is peculiarly fitted by temperament to 
fill this niche at Neuilly. His book is the best 
proof possible of his wide sympathy with the 
needs of youth. Indeed, so well does he love 
his boys that his recent honours have failed 
to induce him to leave them. It is his present 
intention to remain at Neuilly and continue 
writing in his leisure hours. VEleve Gilles 


Introduction 


ix 


was produced thus, in the stray moments he 
was able to snatch from his exacting duties. 

A correspondent who visited him to discuss 
the topic of the hour found him in his Spartan 
little room adjoining the study hall. His 
surroundings were of the utmost simplicity — 
merely a huge desk strewn with papers, a 
round table with a lamp, a few wooden chairs, 
some shelves containing his favourite books, 
and in a ciurtained recess, a bed, washing- 
stand, and wardrobe. As he stood at his 
desk smilingly answering questions, but prof- 
fering no information on his own account, 
the author of VEleve Gilles looked almost as 
young as one of his own pupils. He is very 
retiring in manner, and seems almost bewil- 
dered by the publicity so unexpectedly thrust 
upon him. A twinkle lighted his eye as he 
described the humours of his daily letter- 
bag. Love-letters from romantic girls form 
not the least important item; fathers consult 
him about their sons' careers; an old woman 
begged him to get a manuscript of her own 
writing published, giving as her reason that it 


X 


Introduction 


would please her children so much, and that 
^‘she feels sure it would have a considerable 
sale in New Orleans”; a boy asked for a loan 
of forty pounds on the ground that he is one 
of eight sons. To these freakish missives are 
added the kindliest of congratulations from 
such leading members of the Academie as 
Maurice Barr^s, the Comte d’Haussonville, 
Paul Bourget, and Paul Hervieu, besides 
sundry offers for his next novel from en- 
terprising publishers. 

Andre Lafon admitted under pressure that 
his book was partly autobiographical: for 
instance, the school described is the one where 
he received his own education; Gilles is ^‘my- 
self, plus imagination”; all the incidents have 
occurred within his experience, though not in 
the order given; the boys are real, but the 
father is fictitious. Lafon stated his con- 
viction that '^although imagination should be 
a leading factor in a novel, the setting and 
characters must be built on a solid ground- 
work of personal experience and observation. ” 

It is self-evident that the remarkable sincer- 


Introduction 


xi 


ity and vividness of the story are due to the 
fact that the author makes little Gilles the 
mouthpiece of the joys and sorrows and fancies 
of his own emotional childhood. 

Several years went to the planning of the 
book, though only one was spent in actual 
writing. 

The next novel from his pen will describe 
the life of a young man, again ‘'myself, plus 
imagination,” but under another personality; 
the idea of a series, all representing the same 
character, does not attract him. He means 
to introduce more incident, and possibly a love 
episode, and he remarks modestly that as he 
grows older and his horizon widens, he hopes 
to be able to make his books more interesting. 
His former works have been written in verse. 
They show traces of the influence of Francis 
Jammes, and, more remotely, Lamartine. La 
Maison Pauvre, which won the Prix Virengue, 
recalls, by its ardent piety and graceful simpli- 
city, Lamartine’s beautiful poem, Jocelyn. 

The much-discussed Eleve Gilles is not a 
novel in the true sense of the word. 


Xll 


Introduction 


A child's eyes gaze awestruck into the world ; 
through a child's lips the story of an unevent- 
ful life is related in all the wealth of detail 
dictated by the limitations of his vision. To 
such, the outside world does not exist, the 
processes of nature are all-sufficient. Of 
what account are war, politics, literature, art, 
to the little fellow engaged in observing the 
growth of an individual flower, the wonder 
of the snail he has rescued from underfoot, 
the habits of the family cat, or the household 
operations of Segonde, faithful servant, arbiter 
of destiny, provider of treats, administrator 
of punishment? Through the open gate the 
distant line of horizon marks the limit of the 
world. The farm, the garden, the flelds, are 
his realm. 

There is a sense of finality ever present in 
childhood. Each day is complete in itself, 
every incident the all-engrossing preoccu- 
pation — ^the child does not peer into the future, 
neither does it look back — hence the extra- 
ordinary vividness of those early impressions, 
the keenness of enjoyment, the turbulence of 


Introduction 


xiii 


emotion. As life progresses, the perspective 
changes; past and future become merged in the 
present, and, with a truer sense of proportion, 
the sharpness of vision fades. Why else are 
certain scenes of our childhood fixed so indeli- 
bly on our brain? Who among us does not 
see, impressed on the mental retina in colours 
that will never fade, incidents absolutely 
trivial in themselves, that occurred in bygone 
days? 

Andre Lafon, still a youth himself, an intro- 
spective, nervous, slightly morbid youth, has 
managed to convey all this. His own early 
years still loom so large on his horizon that 
his little Gilles forces us to understand, by 
sheer directness and simplicity. To the child, 
nothing is vulgar or ridiculous; the people 
around him are friends, protectors, in whose 
tenderness he has the unquestioning faith of 
carefully-guarded childhood. He sees nothing 
repulsive in their homeliness, nothing funny in 
their foibles, though these may bring a smile 
to our own lips in reading his artless recital. 
His surroundings are minutely described: 


xiv 


Introduction 


we see the grim, toil-lined, honest counte- 
nance of the peasant servant, framed in its 
black kerchief, hear the festive rustle of the 
silk apron she wears on Sundays, smell the hot 
coffee and toast, feel the warmth of the new- 
laid egg unexpectedly found in the old horse’s 
manger; with Jean we play in the garden and 
find absorbing interest in the first snowdrop, 
the downy plums, the berries on the ivy. 

Andr6 Lafon possesses the combined gifts of 
feeling and expression. Other authors have 
endeavoured to portray the workings of a 
child’s mind; Tolstoi, in his Souvenirs, Dickens 
in David Copperfield, Pierre Loti, Daudet, 
Henry James — ^but these have all written in 
later life, when the vividness of their own 
impressions had faded, and disillusion had 
laid its withering grasp upon them. They 
relate, as matm-e men, the story of infancy; 
Andre Lafon, a youth not long emerged from 
adolescence, who stepped straight from boy- 
hood into the teaching profession, has never 
lost touch. He knows exactly what every 
type of French schoolboy thinks and feels. 


Introduction 


XV 


It is said by those who are familiar with 
Andr6 Lafon’s former works that his prose 
recalls his verse. Certainly there is a poetry 
about both his thoughts and his phrasing 
that places him far above the ordinary novel- 
ist. What might be termed tricks of style 
in a more affected writer become, in Lafon’s 
hands, merely the skilled expression of a 
perfectly straightforward mind. 

All praise and thanks to the Academie which 
has recognised and drawn the artist from his 
obscurity. 

Theodora Davidson. 


September^ IQ12, 



Jean Gilles, Schoolboy 


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Jean Gilles, Schoolboy 


I 

M y name is Jean Gilles. One winter 
morning just after my ninth birth- 
day, my mother suddenly told me 
she was going to send me on a long visit to a 
great-aunt with whom I usually spent my 
holidays. A slight attack of whooping-cough 
from which I was recovering was the pretext 
she advanced. In the ordinary way, I should 
have been delighted at the plan, but a tinge 
of mystery in the manner of communicating 
it to me had the effect of damping my en- 
thusiasm. 

My father had not appeared at breakfast 
and I learned that he was tired and was resting 
in his room. I confess I was glad of his ab- 
3 


4 


Jean Gilles 

sence for I was always nervous and constrained 
before him. He would sit at the table ab- 
sorbed in thought, while I tried my hardest 
to keep quiet, but if I had the misfortune to 
interrupt his reflections by the slightest sound, 
his wrath would break out in angry words 
and gestures. The consequence was that I 
had become a very quiet child and dreaded 
making a noise more than anything else in 
the world. I hated this constant self-repres- 
sion, especially at meals, where my very 
anxiety to behave myself was often the cause 
of stupid accidents. The night before, for 
instance, I had upset my glass at dinner and 
made a huge stain on the cloth. My father’s 
nervous start drove the colour from my cheeks, 
and my anguish was further increased when 
he jumped up from his seat and left the room 
to resume his stormy playing of a sonata 
he had been studying all the morning. My 
mother knew that her tender ministrations 
would be needed to calm my agitation, and 
remained with me for a short while before 
joining him. Presently, as I sat idly at my 


5 


Jean Gilles 

neglected studies, I heard her sweet voice 
raised in the songs my father insisted on 
accompanying every evening. Usually when 
she had finished, he would keep her by his 
side while he improvised airs I should have 
recognised anywhere as his. He hardly ever 
allowed her to return to me, except just to 
give me a hurried kiss and send me off to bed. 
On the evening in question, the same routine 
had been followed and the concert was pro- 
longed far into the night. 

On the morning of my departure, we break- 
fasted hastily and quite silently, although 
my father was not present. My mother 
moved about performing last duties and occa- 
sionally going to my father’s room, whither 
I dared not follow her. I left the house 
without seeing him again. 

The little town where my aunt resided was 
some distance away; we went thither by boat, 
a two hours’ trip on the river. In summer, the 
expedition was delightful, and even at Easter 
it was pleasant, but now we were entering 
upon the month of December; the cold drove 


6 


Jean Gilles 


us below into the little saloon and I spent the 
journey leaning a sleepy head against my 
mother, while she sat thinking deeply. 

A red velvet seat ran round the cabin, and 
above it were deep square openings giving 
access to the port-holes. Between these open- 
ings, the walls were panelled with mirrors, in 
one of which I watched the reflection of our 
own little group. My mother wore a close 
jet bonnet with black velvet ribbons framing 
her oval face. Her eyes gazed unseeing into 
space and her lips were tightly closed; a deep 
dimple dented her left cheek. A fur boa was 
round her neck, and her hands were tucked into 
a large muff under her thick cloak. Only 
two other ladies travelled with us; they con- 
versed in whispers and one of them warmed 
her smartly shod feet at the stove. The 
afternoon was declining when we landed at 
V . 

Generally, when we arrived for the holi- 
days, my aunt sent to meet me at the landing- 
stage. Justin, the farmer’s son, drove the 
old-fashioned carriage, something like an 


7 


Jean Gilles 

omnibus in shape; it was generally known as 
the waggon/’ a name I once gave it in 
fun and which afterwards stuck to it. This 
evening, there was no ^‘waggon,” so we 
started on foot. At the village, my mother 
took a turning to the right across some fields. 
It led into a road I did not know. The weather 
was very cold and my mother walked fast; 
I trotted by her side clinging to her arm under- 
neath her cloak. I kept looking about me, 
wondering in the darkness where we were. 
Suddenly I found we had reached our journey’s 
end. 

My aunt lived alone with a servant on her 
little property of La Grangere. The house 
was old and two-storied, with long wings 
stretching to right and left. Near it, but 
separated from it by a large courtyard bor- 
dered with trees, stood the dwellings of her 
employees, the stables, outhouses, and build- 
ings necessary for a wine-making business; 
a lane led to the vineyard. We usually ap- 
proached the house from that side in the soft 
dusk of a March evening or on a warm July 


8 


Jean Gilles 

afternoon. The carriage would turn in at 
the gate amid the salutes of the farm-hands 
and drive slowly up to the front door where 
my aunt awaited us with a smiling welcome; 
but the short cut my mother had chosen on 
this oecasion brought us in by the back of the 
house through the garden. The gate creaked 
as we pushed it open. The house seemed fast 
asleep; a single light burned in the window of 
the kitchen. Segonde, the old servant, was 
just going in when we appeared. She gave a 
little ery of pleased reeognition and threw 
down the bundle of firewood she was carry- 
ing in her apron. The astonishment of her 
mistress was no less marked, but was instantly 
followed by expressions of delight, and she 
was so prompt to order extra food, poke up 
the fire, and fold us to her bosom, that I forgot 
the cold and gloom of the journey and recov- 
ered my spirits. My mother smiled for the 
first time and I felt that all was well. 

My aunt was occupying her favourite room, 
a little apartment situated between the dining- 
room and the kitchen. We snuggled up to 


Jean Gilles 


9 


the broad hearth. My mother’s vague replies 
to my aunt’s eager inquiries soon caused the 
latter to understand that no details would be 
forthcoming in my presence. 

I stared about me. Everything looked 
different on this winter evening; the glow and 
warmth contrasted strangely with the sum- 
mer arrangement of flower-filled hearth and 
widely-opened windows I was familiar with. 
The lamp shade concentrated the light on the 
table, and the furniture beyond was wrapped 
in mysterious obscurity. Segonde bustled 
about carrying logs for the Are, and laying 
the table; she scolded my mother affection- 
ately for coming without warning, and begged 
her to excuse the modest nature of the repast 
she was forced to lay before her. 

The meal was quickly ready. I recognised 
the coarse table-cloth and napkins and the 
pattern of the plates, but sleep already weighed 
down my eyelids and very soon the voices 
round me mingled with my dreams. When 
I awoke some time later, I thought I detected 
tears in my mother’s eyes, but she led me 


lo Jean Gilles 

away to bed and I fell asleep rejoicing in her 
good-night kiss. 

A ray of sunshine falling across my pil- 
low awakened me at a tolerably advanced 
hour, next morning. I called my mother 
without obtaining any response. Her room, 
which adjoined mine, was empty and the fire 
smouldering out. I looked into it and ran 
downstairs. 

I found my aunt sewing alone in her little 
room. To my eager inquiries for my mother 
she replied with a gentle kiss that she had 
been pressed for time and had thought it 
advisable to hurry away without waking me. 
I was vexed as well as disappointed. I re- 
sented being treated as a baby; tears came to 
my eyes, but Segonde pushed me towards the 
table and I sat down to a great bowl of hot 
milk and some slices of buttered toast. Our 
sudden arrival the day before had prevented 
her from collecting the eggs, so she waited till 
I was ready, and together we crawled into 
the low hen-house. A great, black, fat hen 
was sitting on a nest. She began to cluck, 


II 


Jean Gilles 

but Segonde regardless of her remonstrances, 
and of the agitated crowing set up by the 
cocks in response, raised her cleverly by the 
wings, picked out the eggs two by two and 
put them in her apron. I knelt beside her 
watching the operation with eyes still red and 
swollen from my fit of crying. She handed 
me the biggest and told me to pass it gently 
over them to reduce the irritation. The 
warmth of the polished shell was deliciously 
soothing to the smarting skin. Segonde smiled 
at me, and the hens protruded anxious heads 
through the aperture leading from their 
shelter into the yard, turning their bright 
eyes sideways upon us. We returned to the 
house; my aunt had put a beautiful book 
ready for me on the table containing coloured 
engravings of the kings and queens of France. 
The portraits faced each other, so that when 
the book was closed the husbands seemed to 
embrace their wives. Louis XI. looked grim 
and forbidding in his coarse gown and medals; 
St. Louis, angelic with long golden locks; but 
the Valois in their head-dresses of velvet 


12 


Jean Gilles 

and pearls were too effeminate for my taste. 
Bayard was represented dying at Romagnano, 
his back against a tree, and his gaze fixed 
upon the cross of his sword, under the eyes 
of the Constable of Bourbon. My aunt sat 
at a window whence she commanded a view 
of the wide courtyard beyond the terraced 
garden; her work-basket stood on a stool at 
her side and a tall grandfather’s clock mounted 
guard from behind. There was little other 
furniture in the apartment beyond a few 
antique chairs, an oak chest, and a ponderous 
old-fashioned table covered with a woollen 
cloth. Tall gilt vases, a couple of candle- 
sticks, and a carved statuette of the Virgin 
supporting the infant Jesus on her hip, decked 
the high mantle. My mother’s First Com- 
munion certificate was suspended from a nail 
on the wall. 

The day dragged heavily. My spirits sank 
with the approach of darkness, but when the 
lamp was lighted and ruddy flames leaped and 
danced on the broad hearth, I became more 
cheerful. At bed-time my aunt asked whether 


13 


Jean Gilles 

I was in the habit of saying my prayers. I 
said, “Yes,’’ but it was not true. In the old 
childish days when my mother put me to bed 
herself, she used to join my hands and make 
me repeat the ‘ ' Our Father ’ ’ and ' ‘ Hail Mary ’ ’ 
after her, but since I had been allowed to go 
alone to my room, I had jumped into bed 
quickly and fallen asleep listening to the strains 
of the piano. My aunt bent down and begged 
me to add the following petition to my usual 
prayers: “Pray God, bless father and mother, 
and keep them in health,” and not to forget 
to mention her name as well. Then with a 
fond kiss she handed me over to the care of 
Segonde, who took me upstairs. My mother’s 
room was now mine, but its loneliness fright- 
ened me, and after the candle was put out, I 
cried again. 

Time flowed easily. I was happy and in 
good health. Hitherto I had known the 
close of the year only under the aspect it 
bears in town. I was accustomed to its 
heavy skies and muddy streets; I was now 


Jean Gilles 


14 

to discover for the first time the glory of 
winter. My room was situated at the end of 
the left wing. The windows opened on to 
the vineyard with its bare branches and 
blackened stumps, but the pale light of the 
sky spread above them far into hazy space; 
on a distant hill stood a village crowned by a 
chiurch and high steeple; the sound of foot- 
steps and voices came to me cheerfully from 
the road bordering the little property. The 
emptiness of the garden was a surprise to me. 
The Paulownia revealed its naked skeleton 
and the chestnut trees raised their frozen 
boughs; the shrubs were like heather brooms; 
the currant bushes expired drearily by the 
side of the fountain whose drops thawed and 
fell one by one under the rising sun. The 
arbour was no longer a shelter. Amongst the 
interlacing of its roof, sodden lumps of twigs 
and straw discovered themselves as the nests 
I had so eagerly sought during my last holi- 
days. Only the box-hedges remained green, 
and on the low wall the ivy produced curious 
little bunches of grey grapes. It was as if 


15 


Jean Gilles 

our sudden arrival had caught the season 
unawares: the house half asleep, the garden 
undecorated. The evenings were gorgeous! 
As early as four o’clock the sun reached a 
little clump of oaks thickly encumbered with 
mistletoe, behind which it sank in a crimson 
glow; the horizon caught fire and the sky 
paled into green. Segonde would open the 
garden door and call my name. I went in, 
took up my book, and read stories to myself 
under the soft light of the lamp, or sat quietly 
dreaming in the firelight. The evening meal 
followed, and then bedtime. It was a period 
of peace and contentment. 

I scrawled laborious little letters to my 
mother, and in return she sent her love and 
kisses to me when she wrote to my aunt. She 
talked of coming to fetch me home for Christ- 
mas, but much as I longed to see her I must 
admit I did not relish the prospect of return- 
ing to the town during the dull dark days of 
winter. My thoughts dwelt most with my 
mother at night when I went up to bed and 
whispered the new petition my aunt had 


i6 


Jean Gilles 


taught me. 'Tray God, bless father and 
mother, and keep them in health.’’ I do not 
know whether my aunt mistrusted me, or 
whether she had some very special blessing 
to solicit from Heaven, but she presently 
instituted family prayers. One evening, when 
the hot water had been put in the bedrooms 
and the fire lighted in her mistress’s chamber, 
Segonde fetched me. My aunt took up a 
position in front of the statue of the Virgin, 
pulled a chair towards her and leaning over it, 
signed to me to draw a footstool to her side. 
Segonde knelt on the hearthstone. My aimt 
began. She recited the Pater Noster, Ave 
Maria, Credo, Confiteor, in a solemn voice, 
and Segonde made the responses. Then she 
announced that she was going to pray to 
Mary for the recovery of a person who should 
be nameless; but whom we were to bear in 
mind. She proceeded to the Litany of the 
Blessed Virgin and in my childish imagination 
the wooden statuette seemed to embody the 
poetical words: "Cause of our Joy, Mystical 
Rose, Tower of David. . . .” To each invo- 


Jean Gilles 


17 


cation Segonde replied rapidly, ''Pray for us,’' 
causing me to fear that the prayer was com- 
ing to an end; but praise succeeded praise: 
"House of Gold, Ark of the Covenant, Gate 
of Heaven, Morning Star. ..." I thought 
my aunt was composing them as she went on: 
"Health of the Sick, Refuge of Sinners, Con- 
soler of the afflicted. Queen of Martyrs! ..." 
The two women fell silent at last like a bell 
with a broken clapper; in still graver tones 
they presently pronounced the formula for 
the repose of the souls of the dead. 

My aunt made the sign of the Cross, and 
her gentle kiss on my forehead was more 
impressive than usual. Segonde pushed to- 
gether the heavy blocks of burning wood, 
spread ashes over the embers, and taking up 
the candle she had just lighted, preceded us 
silently up the stairs to our rooms. 

The days of the week differed little from 
each other, but Sunday came like a pro- 
mise deferred to enhance the peace of our 
lot, and the whole household made prepa- 


1 8 Jean Gilles 

ration for it. On the Friday, Maria, the 
farmer’s wife, washed the soiled linen; the 
next day her two daughters lent their aid to 
Segonde in her vigorous cleaning. Water 
flowed over the kitchen tiles, the windows were 
polished until they shone like mirrors, the 
copper cauldrons and candlesticks, the tin 
dishes and dish-covers took on the semblance 
of gold and silver. The floors of the living- 
rooms were waxed by a woman specially re- 
nowned for the art. One of the out-of-door 
men was brought in from the vineyard, to 
tidy the garden and court-yard. The house 
became uninhabitable. Only the dining-room 
and drawing-room were left in peace, for as 
they were not much used, Segonde inflicted 
her cleaning operations upon them more 
rarely. When night fell, the extra workers 
sat down to a meal, but not in the kitchen! 
That apartment was closed to them; they rfed 
in a barn allotted by rights to the gardener. 
Segonde turned them away early, ruthlessly 
curtailing the gossip and even, if necessary, 
the food. Then began her own inspection of 


Jean Gilles 


19 


the work done, and I often had to submit to 
lengthy delay on my way to bed while she 
re-washed some window or re-rubbed a chan- 
delier, scrubbed a table or gave a final sweep 
with her broom; for she held it as impossible 
that I should go to my room without her, as 
that she should interrupt her labours to con- 
duct me thither, although my aunt invariably 
advised her to do so. 

She resumed her activities at early dawn 
on the Sabbath; after opening the rooms and 
preparing the breakfast she retired to her 
attic, took off the coloured kerchief which 
usually covered her hair, put on a black silk 
one, and clean clothes with a black mantle; 
then she went to assist her mistress. My aunt 
wore on week-days a long grey garment belted 
round the waist, and a lace cap with lappets 
hanging on each side of her austere counten- 
ance. She was tall and held herself very 
straight. On Sundays her head-dress was 
more imposing; it was decked with black and 
violet ribbons tied under her chin. When her 
toilet was completed, she stalked staidly down 


20 


Jean Gilles 


the wide central staircase, which was used 
only on Sundays, followed by the maid. The 
carriage was in waiting below to convey them 
to the town. I now became one of the party, 
and I soon grew to know every rut in the road, 
every rise in the level of the narrow streets. 
We entered the Church, amid the discreet 
salutations of the congregation, and proceeded 
to our places. My aunt possessed her own 
prie-Dieu and chair, marked with her name; 
the old verger was careful to put them in the 
same position every Sunday. The lady who 
occupied the neighbouring seat was politely 
begged to do us the favotu of resigning it to 
me. The choir boys were already accom- 
panying the priests in procession round the 
church when we arrived; some girls sang the 
Kyrie; the Gospel was read aloud, each person 
making a reverent sign of the Cross on fore- 
head and lips. The sermon followed , and then 
a priest wound his way in and out among the 
people carrying a little red offertory bag into 
which pennies were dropped. The choir sang 
the Credo. A lad handed the pain h6nit. It 


Jean Gilles 


21 


smelt of incense and frangipane and occupied 
my attention until the final prayers were re- 
cited by the officiating priest, at the foot of 
the altar, his right hand resting upon the 
chalice he carried in his left. The people 
then walked out. Segonde, from her lowly 
seat at the end of the church, disappeared 
mysteriously into the street, but my aunt was 
surrounded by ladies who recognised me and 
clamoured for a kiss. They were surprised 
to see me at this time of year, as I usually 
appeared only in summer ; my aunt explained 
that I had been ill, and had come to her for 
change of air. Little groups of gossips col- 
lected, separated, and moved homewards. 
We got into the omnibus. 

‘'But where is Segonde?” I asked. “Is 
she going to walk home?” 

My aunt smiled, and pretended the maid 
had remained behind to pray for us. The 
carriage drove the people on to the pavements, 
and they bowed to us through the closed 
windows. At the last turning out of the town, 
we found Segonde waiting, bearing in her 


22 


Jean Gilles 

brown hands a large tart wrapped in paper. 
As I knew my aunt was watching me, it amused 
me to declare I had known all the time what 
was going on, and that the tart was no sur- 
prise to me. I offered to carry it, and enjoyed 
its warmth on my thin knees. 

Dinner was later on Sundays and lasted 
longer than usual. My aunt, generally so 
prompt to rise from the table, dawdled end- 
lessly over her coffee. When the bell rang 
for vespers, we set out again, and after the 
service popped in to visit one old lady after 
another; my aunt held long confabulations 
with them. The names of friends who had 
passed away and events I had never heard of 
evoked long pauses, during which the only 
sound audible was the spurting of the blue 
flames among the logs. One Sunday we went 
to the cemetery where my aunt's daughter, 
who had died within a few months of her 
marriage, lay by the side of her father. 

When evening came, we sat silently in the 
little parlour. The solemnity of the day still 
dwelt with us. The memory of the choral 


23 


Jean Gilles 

service, the scent of new clothes, some intang- 
ible influence, seemed to set it apart as the 
evening of the Lord’s day differing entirely 
in character from those of the week. 

Though I enjoyed every day as it passed 
and was very happy, the evenings brought 
with them their burden of suffering. My 
terror of the dark increased the agony of my 
longing for my absent mother. 

When at dusk I was called in from the gar- 
den, I joined my aunt quietly in the window 
where she usually sat. She was fond of that 
calm period of the day and liked to delay the 
lighting of the lamps. She would drop her 
work and gaze out beyond the vineyards at 
the distant splendour of the setting sun. 
When the wind was in a certain quarter, we 
could usually hear the sound of the Angelus 
from the town or the neighbouring village. 
Then my aunt recited the first versicle of the 
prayer, and Segonde, busy with the lamps in 
the pantry, called out the response; the Hail, 
Mary, followed; Segonde entered carrying the 


24 


Jean Gilles 

light and closed the shutters. Then the 
enemy took possession of me. 

I preferred to sit idle the whole evening by 
the burning embers, rather than penetrate 
into the gloomy dining-room to fetch my 
book if I had forgotten to bring it in with me. 
Our cosy, lamp-lit sitting-room, and the 
kitchen with its roaring blaze were the only 
places I dared venture into after dark. The 
rest of the house seemed haunted, and threat- 
ening. I should have liked to lock the door 
of the dining-room and those which led from 
the kitchen into the garden and woody ard. 
I could not understand how Segonde could 
bear to delay pulling the blinds down over 
the windows; the reflection of the dancing 
flames in the glass panes filled me with dread 
of seeing eyes pressed against them, gazing 
in at me. 

The serenity of the two women among these 
imaginary dangers was no support to me 
against terrors which I am ashamed to confess, 
and which after all were as naught compared 
to those I endured later in the loneliness of 


25 


Jean Gilles 

my bedroom. We used to climb by a little 
ladder-like staircase from the kitchen to the 
upstair passage. I always manoeuvred to let 
the servant go first, so that I might enter 
the chamber behind her. She settled me in 
briskly, and when she departed, I made heroic 
efforts to maintain my equanimity; but even 
the shadow of the curtains was a source of 
anxiety, and I would not have gone within 
sight of the looking-glass for anything in the 
world. My fears were intangible; I could 
not have put them into words, yet my whole 
being quivered with agonised expectation, 
and the slightest optical delusion would have 
driven me frantic. I felt better when I was 
able to snuggle in between the sheets, blow 
out the candle and turn my back to the empti- 
ness of the room and the crackling sounds of 
the dry furniture. Sleep soon closed my eyes, 
but even then my troubles were not at an 
end. Dreadful nightmares used to recur 
night after night, completely putting into 
the shade the ordinary bad dream where one’s 
feet refuse to fly before a pressing danger, or 


26 


Jean Gilles 

one feels oneself falling into a measureless 
void. My special inflictions were these: my 
mother would glide stealthily into my pres- 
ence and gaze at me with an unfamiliar stare 
of cold displeasure, which I had never seen 
in real life; in vain I assured her I had done 
no evil, that I was guiltless of any wrong— 
my asseverations failed to mollify her, and 
finally I used to wake sobbing bitterly. Or 
again, I was back at home, playing happily 
on the floor, building a high tower of bricks. 
Suddenly the high edifice oscillated, and 
threatened to topple over. The anticipation 
of the noise it would make in falling, and the 
subsequent furious entrance of my father 
paralysed me with dread ; again I would start 
out of my sleep, gasping, bathed in cold per- 
spiration. The silence seemed full of sound; 
rain dripped from the trees, the wind moaned, 
the damper in the chimney flapped. I felt 
forlorn and neglected. There were two beds 
in my aunt’s room. I knew she would will- 
ingly have allowed me to occupy the second, 
but I was also aware that my uncle had 


27 


Jean Gilles 

breathed his last in it. My lips were sealed; 
I had no option but to suffer in silence, with 
tense frame and eyes tightly shut. Some 
times my terrifying vigil lasted until the rising 
sun shed a slight glimmer upon my closed 
lids; then at last my limbs relaxed, and I fell 
into a sound sleep. 

I was not wholly at ease even in broad day- 
light; I hated to walk through the unoccupied 
rooms. The dining-room exercised an un- 
canny influence over me; the tiled corridor 
separating it from the drawing-room alarmed 
me by its echoing emptiness and the mysterious 
light which shone through the stained glass 
above the doors. The wide main staircase 
froze my blood. I knew my uncle had been 
found dying on the bottom step one day when 
he had escaped the vigilance of his nurses 
during his last illness, and, tottering out, had 
either fallen the whole length of the stairs or 
hurled himself down to terminate his suffer- 
ings. I never entered the drawing-room if I 
could possibly help it. Two large portraits 
representing my uncle and aunt in the early 


28 


Jean Gilles 

days of their marriage, stared at me in un- 
friendly fashion, and embarrassed me much 
more than if they had been those of total 
strangers. Every day the windows of this 
large apartment were opened, to admit sun 
and air. It was situated at the extreme end 
of the right wing and overlooked a distant 
vista of river and hills. On the other hand, 

I was not in the least afraid of the woodhouse, 
a little low cubbyhole next to the kitchen, 
lighted only by one dimunitive pane of glass. 
I used to fetch logs from it for Segonde; the 
piled-up fagots, the heap of Ribstone pippins, 
the potatoes smelling of damp earth, com- 
bined to produce a scent of autumn woods and 
fields homely enough to dissipate idle fancies. 
I amused myself swinging the long strings of 
golden onions which htmg from the low beams, 
whereon reposed cakes of home-made soap 
in process of drying. Sometimes an onion 
would detach itself, and roll away, splitting 
its skin, fine as the shard of a cockchafer. I 
passed boldly through this little place into a 
bam where the hands were in the habit of 


Jean Gilles 


29 


feeding during the grape-picking season. Al- 
though it stood empty the whole of the rest 
of the year, the long benches and greasy tables 
remained impregnated with the coarse scent 
of rough repasts. It opened directly on to 
the courtyard. 

My favourite playground was the garden. 
I loved every inch of its winding, box-edged 
paths, its clumps of flowering shrubs, and, 
in the summer, its profusion of marguerites 
and roses, geraniums, hydrangeas, speedwells, 
and heliotrope. In the long hot days, I made 
sand-pies and miniature gardens through 
which meandered tiny streams, on whose bank 
blossoms and leaves pricked into the wet sand 
represented the glories of a tropical vegeta- 
tion. Two familiar friends I possessed who 
abode in this fairy haunt. One was homely 
in appearance, a hurdy-gurdy player in col- 
oured plaster, clad in scarlet petticoat and 
blue panniers. She stood modestly but flrmly 
on a low pedestal; the other was of higher 
degree, an Empire Muse, sheltering coyly in 
an arbour. One of her arms was broken off. 


30 


Jean Gilles 

I carried flowers to them. The homely one 
was able to hold them in her half-closed 
fingers, but the Muse would only tolerate 
offerings placed at her feet. I doubted not 
that they looked upon me with favour, and I 
enjoyed the feeling of being watched by them 
at my games. But when the shades of evening 
fell, their aspect changed; the Muse dwindled 
to a shadow in the darkling arbour, the hurdy- 
gurdy player became a mere plaster figure 
under the trees, and I forsook the garden. 

But I loved it so well that its winter garb 
did not repel me; I could always find amuse- 
ment whenever a gleam of sunshine lured 
me thither. Such gleams, alas, had now be- 
come infrequent. Sometimes the golden light 
showed itself but for one fleeting moment at 
noon, and was instantly swallowed up in a 
veil of rosy mist, fading later into the gloom 
of early dusk. Christmas was nigh, and the 
melancholy of the short dark days was upon us. 

Snow fell several days running and kept 
me a prisoner in the house. I spent the time 


31 


Jean Gilles 

with my nose glued to the window, staring 
at the whitening fields and the few strag- 
gling houses that resembled ships riding at 
anchor in calm waters. Some passages of 
Bible History read aloud by my aunt, led me 
to fancy myself a denizen of the Ark, stranded, 
but endowed by the hand of an unknown 
friend with the necessary provisions. 

Christmas Eve was a day of soft haze, 
whose misty touch turned all things to sha- 
dows. Scampering about the garden that 
morning, I felt like a dweller in the depths of 
a blue sea which the sun failed to penetrate. 
About noon, however, it shone for a few 
minutes, but hastily retired, leaving behind 
it a faint light which grew feebler every hour. 
Towards four o’clock, I was standing in the 
kitchen, watching Segonde knead a huge 
wheaten cake, when I happened to glance out 
of the window; to my surprise, the garden 
seemed suddenly to have burst into blossom. 
I made an exclamation, and Segonde, without 
removing her hands from the paste, turned her 
head to look in the direction I was pointing. 


32 Jean Gilles 

I seized my chance, snatched up my cap and 
ran out. The increased chilliness of the twi- 
light had congealed the fog on the branches 
and twigs and endowed them with a shining 
efflorescence. I tore along the paths delight- 
ing in the ermine draperies of the box-hedges; 
the trees were more thickly powdered with 
blossom than peach espaliers in spring; the 
shrubs were all crystallised, and their pendent 
leaves resembled the petals of flowers. In 
the meadow I found every blade of grass 
encased in rime. Beyond lay a mysterious 
domain whence the naked boughs of the trees 
rose like smoke. It was fairyland. I almost 
expected to witness the advent of a procession 
of angels. The half-light failed suddenly, 
the fog darkened to purple, and I turned to- 
wards the house which now showed, sketchily 
outlined at the end of the garden; the fire- 
light shone through the kitchen casement, 
and I ran joyfully home. 

“Well? and where are those flowers?” 
smiled Segonde. 

I held out my wet hands, still bathed in 


33 


Jean Gilles 

hoar-frost in a mute gesture, and threw myself 
down before the fire, to dry my shoes. 

I was enchanted at the prospect of going 
to Midnight Mass, a treat I had never hitherto 
been allowed. We dined later than usual, 
to shorten the time of waiting. Afterwards 
we gathered by the fire in the little sitting- 
room. Segonde, in a low chair, prepared meal 
for the fowls; my aunt, seated by the lamp, 
read aloud occasional passages from a book 
of Meditations. Dinner had been as frugal 
as usual. The splendid turkey, whose execu- 
tion I had witnessed that morning, and the 
cakes and sweets I had watched in the making, 
were reserved for the next day. ‘‘The Holy 
Child is not bom yet,*' my aunt observed 
childingly, when I grumbled at our uninter- 
esting dessert of dried almonds and medlars; 
“at this moment, Joseph and Mary are seek- 
ing where they may lay their heads; the inns 
are full of travellers, and no man can be found 
willing to give up his place at the table or 
under the roof tree. ...” I thought of the 
fog outside, and the long, lonely road: “What 


34 Jean Gilles 

a welcome we should offer them,” I said to 
myself, they would only come and knock 
at the door to-night!” A huge log had been 
brought in. At six o’clock it was laid on a 
thick bed of ashes. I took up a position 
whence I could gaze at my ease into its blazing 
depths; golden palaces sprang up, only to 
crumble gently and make way for further 
splendours; by blowing on certain spots, one 
could evoke long tongues of flame which 
crossed each other with a crackling sound, and 
vanished. Segonde placed a few grains of 
maize on the embers; presently they burst 
into the semblance of little white flowerets, 
which I was allowed to eat. We were so 
accustomed to going to bed early that, in 
our fear of falling asleep over our prayers at 
Midnight Mass, we had all partaken of a 
specially strong brew of black coffee; so I was 
not troubled with drowsiness. One of the 
passages my aunt read aloud from her book, 
mentioned ‘‘ravening wolves.” In the silence 
that followed, Segonde said to me: “I saw 
some wolves once, one Christmas Eve, when 


Jean Gilles 


35 


I was walking back from the town. Their 
eyes shone like fireflies, through the bushes.” 

'‘What did you do?” I asked. 

“I shrieked out, ‘ Wolves' I made the sign of 
the Cross, and ran away so fast that I dropped 
one of my shoes and arrived at home, hopping 
on one foot. My word, I was scared!” 

“What would you do now, if it happened 
again?” 

She shook her head. 

“It couldn’t. There are no more wolves 
in the country. That was in the old days, 
before they cut down the woods, to plant 
vineyards.” 

She proceeded to describe those days, before 
the advent of steamboats and railways, when 
a carrier’s cart formed the only link with the 
market-town. Her father had gone there on 
foot, the two or three times in his life that he 
had had business to transact; he was once 
attacked by robbers in a wood he had to cross. 
Segonde herself had never quitted the country 
side. 

The time passed rapidly, and the sound of 


36 Jean Gilles 

the carriage rolling into the courtyard, took 
us quite by surprise. Justin came into the 
house by way of the wood-room, swinging his 
lantern. He informed us the night was mild, 
but we shivered a little in anticipation of the 
chill outer air after the warmth of the room. 
We wrapped ourselves up, banked up the 
fire, put out the lamp, and with Justin light- 
ing our steps, went down to the omnibus. I 
had carefully contrived to place myself be- 
tween my aunt and Segonde, but just as we 
reached the darkest of the unoccupied rooms, 
the latter remembered something she had 
left behind, and turned to feel her way back, 
leaving me to close the procession. I grasped 
my aunt’s cloak so tightly that she guessed 
my feelings, and opening its folds drew me 
close to her side and folded me within. Se- 
gonde joined us at the entrance of the court- 
yard; a white muslin veil hung over her arm. 
I asked whether she was going to be married. 
“Just that,” she replied smiling, and climbed 
into the omnibus after us. The fog was very 
thick. The lanterns only made a splash of 


37 


Jean Gilles 

yellow in the opaque obscurity. The coach- 
man drove slowly. Every now and then we 
passed a dim silhouette on the roadside; 
Justin called out a greeting, the foot passenger 
answered, and was speedily swallowed up in 
the darkness. The odour of the charcoal 
foot-warmers we carried for use in the church 
created a stifling atmosphere. I became 
frightfully sleepy. I tried to count the pop- 
lars, as we passed them; I thought of the song 
my mother lulled me to sleep with, and en- 
deavoured to recall the words, and fit them to 
the rhythmic squeak of the carriage wheels. 
I was aroused by the sound of voices, the 
sudden stoppage of the carriage, and a blast 
of cold air coming in at the open door. We 
had nearly run over an old woman, and 
Segonde was urging her to come inside. 

‘'D’you mean to say, Mariette,” she was 
remonstrating, *‘that at your age you are 
struggling to Midnight Mass? Surely your 
bed would be a more suitable place for you.’' 

^^Well, well, one can’t just live like an 
animal,” the old creature panted; and, blow- 


38 Jean Gilles 

ing out her lantern, added: Saves the light, 
anyway ... to say nothing of my legs,^^ and 
cackled harshly. We drove on. The sound 
of bells penetrated to our hearing; the foot- 
passengers increased in number, and gradually 
the solemnity of the moment which could thus 
people the empty roads and fill the air with 
sound at this unwonted hour, penetrated my 
being. The horrible rattling of the window- 
panes made us aware that we had reached the 
cobble-stones of the town, and presently we 
drew up at the church door. 

The service was commencing. The church 
was brilliantly lighted, and vibrated with 
sound. I recognised the words of a hymn we 
often sang at home: 

Yenez^ divin MessiCy 
Sauvez nos jours infortunes; 

VeneZy Source de vie 
Venez, . . . 

We found seats with difficulty. The build- 
ing was crammed, and the people not much 
inclined to disturb themselves. At last I 


39 


Jean Gilles 

found myself wedged in by the side of a small 
girl, who was putting her whole soul into 
shrieking in a shrill voice the words of the 
hymn: 

Pour nous livrer la guerre, 

Tous les enfers sont dechatnis; 

Descendez sur la terre, . . . 

The organ and the voices ceased. The Priest 
intoned. I must have fallen asleep with my 
head on my aunt’s shoulder and dreamt of my 
mother, for the recollection of her is mingled 
in my memory with this Mass, though I know 
her to have been far away. I seem to recall 
her arms holding me close, and her soft 
breath on my forehead, as her beloved voice 
chanted, close to my ear: 

Les anges, dans nos campagnes 
Ont entonne Vhymne des deux, , , , 

I was brought back to reality by the bustle 
around me. My aunt, after folding her gloves 
and laying them, with her purse and missal 
on her prie-Dieu, rose to join the throng 
moving slowly up the nave towards the altar- 


40 Jean Gilles 

rails. I then saw that before following her 
mistress, Segonde had thrown the white 
muslin veil she had brought with her, over 
her head. All the women of her class and 
the working-women had thus draped them- 
selves in white, to receive the sacred Host. 
The column of people struggled forward, inch 
by inch. Those returning from the Holy 
Table, crept down the side aisles, their hands 
reverently joined and their faces concealed 
by the flowing veils. When they reached 
their places, they fell upon their knees, and 
immersed themselves in prayerful meditation. 
Meanwhile the organ made soft music. The 
little girl beside me stared awe-struck at the 
lights and flowers on the altar. My aunt 
returned to her place, with serene counten- 
ance and Angers interlaced. Segonde fol- 
lowed, her head, beneath its muslin fold, bent 
reverently over her joined hands. Both were 
instantly absorbed in prayer. 

At the conclusion of the Service, the con- 
gregation was beginning to melt away with a 
sign of the Cross, and a slight genuflexion. 


41 


Jean Gilles 

when the organist struck up a prelude, and 
the triimiphant sound of the final hymn of joy 
burst out simultaneously, from those hundreds 
of throats, to the shuffling accompaniment of 
many feet. 

II est ne, le divin Enfant^ 

Jouez hauthoisy resonnez musettes, , , , 

The people sang with all their hearts, and the 
harmony, proceeding as from one mouth and 
one voice, must assuredly have soared straight 
to the Great White Throne, and returning 
thence, flooded the quiet fields and roads 
slumbering in the winter moonlight. 

The bells rang out a merry peal. 

Une etahle est son logement, 

Un peu de paille sa couchette, 

II est ne le divin Enfant, , , , 

The atmosphere thrilled with joyous excite- 
ment. Little groups hurried homewards 
through the narrow streets. The fog had 
lifted. We got into the onmibus Justin had 
meanwhile fetched from the inn-yard, and I 


42 


Jean Gilles 

instantly fell into a sound sleep, whence I was 
roused by being carried into the little sitting- 
room where smoking cups of hot chocolate 
awaited us. Segonde knelt before me and 
pulled off my shoes, to let the warmth of the 
embers she had just stirred up reach my chilled 
feet. This reminded me that the shoes must 
be left in the hearth, for the night. The two 
women looked at each other, concern writ 
large in their homely faces; my aunt said in 
an embarrassed manner that Father Christmas 
had forgotten to call upon her for many a long 
year, and that even if he remembered on this 
occasion, his pack would be practically ex- 
hausted, as we lived so much farther from the 
town than anybody else. I insisted, however, 
on taking my chance; and as my nap in the 
omnibus had thoroughly refreshed me, I 
should have sat up to watch for him, had I not 
feared that my presence might interfere with 
his designs. 

While I undressed, I hummed the carols I 
had learned at my mother’s knee, and thought 
lovingly of her. I felt confident I should see 


43 


Jean Gilles 

her soon, for she would surely come to fetch 
me home before the New Year. She had not 
said so definitely in her letters, but there was 
no reason to apprehend that the joyful season 
would terminate without bringing her to me. 
When I blew out the candle, I found that 
Segonde had forgotten to draw the curtains, 
and that the light of the moon was flooding 
the chamber. The shadow of the window was 
reproduced in a checkered design across the 
floor. I looked with delight, through the 
undraped panes, into the starlit night, and 
felt no fear. I closed my eyes in the serene 
certainty that a celestial presence watched 
over my couch. 

I woke up very late the next morning, 
although the room was bathed in sunlight. 
The events of the preceding night floated 
dream-like through my mind, until I sud- 
denly remembered the shoes I had left in the 
hearth. 

I scrambled out of bed and hurried down- 
stairs. In each one I found a rosy apple and 


44 


Jean Gilles 

six new pennies wrapped in tin-foil. This 
was not up to my expectation, alas! and my 
countenance must have reflected my disap- 
pointment. My aunt, who was observing me 
with some anxiety, reminded me of her pre- 
sentiment of the night before: “We are some 
distance from the town, little man. Father 
Christmas nearly empties his pack before he 
can get as far as this.” I kissed her as good- 
humouredly as I could and ran to meet the 
postman at the kitchen door. I seized the 
letter he handed me and carried it to my aunt. 
Impatiently I waited while she found her 
spectacles, polished them, put them on, and 
gravely scrutinised the address. Then she 
took a pair of scissors, cut the envelope tidily 
open, unfolded the letter, and proceeded to 
read it to herself with pursed lips and raised 
eyebrows. She read to the very end without 
allowing her facial expression to convey any- 
thing to my eager eyes; then slowly replacing 
the missive in its envelope, and tucking it into 
the voluminous pocket under her skirt, she 
took off her spectacles and said: “Your mother 


45 


Jean Gilles 

arrives to-night, my dear/' I gave a whoop 
of delight. Segonde had interrupted her 
work in the bedrooms and come down to hear 
the news. With arms akimbo she stood in 
the doorway, waiting expectantly. The look 
her mistress threw her gave me an uneasy 
sensation that something was being concealed 
from me, but my aunt merely directed her to 
warn Justin to be in readiness to meet the 
boat. Of course I settled to go too. The 
high spirits I was in had to be worked off 
somehow. I threw all my energies into help- 
ing my aimt to lay the table in the big dining- 
room in a manner worthy of the occasion. A 
lonely old maiden lady, a friend of my aunt’s 
far-away youth, whom we were in the habit 
of visiting on Sundays after Mass, had been 
invited to share the feast. I took pains to 
place symmetrically the plates my aunt 
handed to me, and then followed her up to 
an attic she had turned into a fruit and herb 
store, and reserved as her own special domain. 
A delicious aroma assailed our nostrils as we 
opened the door and crept in under the pent 


^6 Jc3.n Gillcs 

roof. The light of the open skylight showed 
me a thick bed of straw on the floor, on which 
lay in luscious array great bunches of purple 
grapes, russet pears, enormous rosy-cheeked 
Canadian apples, and partially dried prunes. 
Above our heads, bundles of herbs hung from 
the rafters. I could distinguish the scents 
of mint, sage, verbena, and mallow. I ap- 
proached the little bull's-eye window and 
looked down at the courtyard far below. 
Maria, walking across, looked tiny. The 
white road threaded its way between vine- 
yards, imtil it encountered the broad river 
gleaming distantly like a silver ribbon under 
the winter sun. I was riveted by the sight. 
However, as soon as my aunt had filled her 
basket, I had to go down with her; but the 
odour of fruit went with us, and in my pockets 
reposed two large ripe black prunes I had 
stolen for my mother under cover of the dark- 
ness, after my aunt had closed the shutters. 

Mile. Aitrelie arrived early, on foot, and 
came in by the back way, stopping for a 
moment to exchange Christmas greetings 


47 


Jean Gilles 

with Segonde in the kitchen. She was 
wrapped in a shawl, and a black bonnet sur- 
mounted her scanty locks. Her countenance 
wore the deprecating, wistful expression of 
one who has been harshly treated by circum- 
stances. She patted me on the cheek, em- 
braced her friend, who was arranging the 
dessert, and sat down to help her. When an 
over-ripe grape dropped here and there from 
the bunch, during the process, she gave it to 
me with a little smile. Afterwards she sat by 
the fire, speaking little, but listening to my 
aunt's low-toned monologue, nodding, and 
pursing her lips. My aunt told her we were 
expecting my mother. Their eyes met, trav- 
elled to where I knelt looking into the flaming 
logs, then met again. 

''He is as like her as he can be," she mur- 
mured. 

I gathered from my aunt's eager acquiesc- 
ence that she was delighted at hearing her 
own views borne out by her old friend's verdict. 
She added: 

"And he has no talent whatever for music! " 


48 


Jean Gilles 

I longed for luncheon to begin — not that I 
was in the least hungry, but because it would 
bring the ardently desired hour of my mother's 
arrival nearer. 

At last, Segonde entered, bearing the soup 
tureen. We drew our chairs to the table and 
said grace. When the well-stuffed turkey 
had been placed upon the table, the maid 
fetched a bottle of old wine from the corner 
of the hearth where she had put it to warm, 
and filled our glasses, boasting of its respect- 
able antiquity. The fruity scent turned me 
sick, and I would gladly have avoided drinking 
the ceremonial glass, but the old ladies were 
bent upon my having it for the good of my 
health, so there was no escape. My aunt took 
a sip of hers, apparently more for the sake of 
the memories it evoked, than for the wine 
itself. With a word here and there she touched 
upon the torrid heat of the year of its vintage, 
upon the closed houses where people sat and 
longed for the cool hours of the evening; the 
many forest fires, the prolific grape-yield, 
owing to heavy rains at the critical moment, 


49 


Jean Gilles 

after public prayers had been offered up for 
the cessation of drought. . . . 

The sunlight played upon the wine and 
made pools of rosy colour in its purple depths. 
What was it that this ageing woman saw, as 
she gazed deep into the glass, the dawn of a 
fleeting smile just parting her lips? Mile. 
Aurelie had turned her veiled glance to the 
window and was also contemplating something 
far beyond the fiat road and distant river. I 
had a sudden return of the curious feeling of 
aloofness I so often experienced at home, 
when I sat silent and neglected at table, while 
my father brooded and my mother watched. 
It was borne in upon me that the two women’s 
thoughts had strayed back to those days of 
yore, long before I was born, when the sun 
shone upon other joys, and the gaiety and 
laughter of people I had never known, ani- 
mated the sober countryside. 

I left the table before dessert and wandered 
into the garden. A jangle of bells filled the 
air. I could distinguish those of the town 
from the tiny tinkle of the village churches. 


50 Jean Gilles 

The fancy came to me that the sounds met 
in our garden to converse and gossip. I heard 
them in imagination discussing the news of the 
neighbourhood in the great peace of the day’s 
feast, and wondered whether the arrival of 
my mother was one of their topics. I began 
to gather what I could to deck the bedroom 
I was about to vacate for her convenience. 
There was nothing left on the bushes, but the 
ivy growing on the low wall presented shining 
leaves and bunches of minute grape-like ber- 
ries which I picked. Whilst thus engaged, I 
saw a woman, with a kerchief knotted under 
her chin, open the big gate and walk up the 
drive. I knew her to be the servant of the 
post-mistress, so I raced across the grass to 
meet her at the kitchen door. I was just in 
time to see her hand a telegram to Segonde, 
who received it with an exclamation of dismay. 
The woman reassured her by saying her 
mistress had sent word that it contained no 
bad news. Still, the blue envelope gave my 
aunt a shock. She opened it with trembling 
fingers, and announced that my mother was 


51 


Jean Gilles 

unable to travel that day, and was obliged 
to put off her journey. 

I crept sadly back to the garden. My steps 
led me unconsciously to the seat in the arbour. 
I dropped into it. The bells still pealed, but 
my ears were deaf to their merry music. The 
sun was sinking. Its fading light illumined 
the dreary prospect of bare fields and trees. 
Presently I heard my name called. ... I 
remained silent. A second summons rang 
through the garden; then a door banged, and 
I was alone. 

Later, on my return to the house, I heard 
that my aunt and Mile. Aurelie had driven 
into the town. I sat down in the kitchen and 
watched Segonde tidy away the litter of our 
Christmas dinner. She lifted the heavy pan 
of hot water from the fire, and carried it into 
the scullery. I heard her washing up the 
plates and dishes. A grey mist gathered 
outside the windows and gradually blotted 
the garden from sight. Putting my hand idly 
into my pocket, my fingers encountered the 
two plums I had stolen for my mother in the 


52 


Jean Gilles 

morning. Then my tears came, and the sobs 
I had so long endeavoured to control burst 
from my throat. 

At length she came. We sat late after 
dinner, waiting for the dawdling local train 
by which she travelled. I thought she looked 
paler and taller. The veil she had partially 
raised made a sombre line across her forehead. 
She was greatly moved, and held me tight in 
her arms for some moments. 

We sat down again at the round table, upon 
which was placed the smoking cup of hot milk 
she had consented to drink. I watched her 
by the subdued light of the shaded lamp. Her 
eyes were sad, but the dimple I loved lurked 
at the corner of her mouth. She asked how 
I had behaved, and whether I had given much 
trouble, and on receiving a good report, ob- 
served that it was time I became a responsible 
person. 

I could have spent all night listening to her, 
but she begged me to retire, and promised to 
follow very soon. I undressed confidently 


Jean Gilles 


53 


and lay in the dark, keeping my eyes wide 
open, for fear of falling asleep. A long time 
elapsed before she came up. I heard her 
creep into the room, open her bag, take out 
her night things, move about, and finally get 
into bed. Then I fell asleep, comforted to 
feel that she was near me. 

She awoke me herself the next morning and 
insisted on helping me to dress. While doing 
so, she told me she had not come to fetch me, 
as I expected ; my father was anxious to go to 
the South and possibly to spend a few months 
there. As it would be a pity to interrupt my 
studies she had decided to send me to school 

at V . My aunt had consented to look 

after me, let me spend my half-holidays at 
the farm, and keep herself informed of my 
progress. 

My heart leaped when I found I was not to 
go back to the town, but my joy was tempered 
by dread of the new life, and sorrow at losing 
my mother's society for so long a period. She 
interviewed the head-master of the College at 
V— — that very day, made all necessary 


54 


Jean Gilles 

arrangements, and informed me on her return 
that my school life would begin in January. 
She urged me to work hard, and told me how 
pleased she and my father would be if I did 
well. I was to spend one day a week at the 
farm, and she would write to me as often as 
possible. She departed the following morning. 

The week that followed flew to its end, my 
very anxiety to spin out its every moment 
making me realise the shortness of the hours. 
Segonde and my aunt busied themselves 
marking every article of my wardrobe with 
the number I had been allotted. The car- 
penter made me a little chest. It was stocked 
with chocolate, cakes, and jam, and secured 
with a padlock, of which I proudly wore the 
key on a string round my neck. A second 
box was bought and fitted with toilet requi- 
sites, also marked with my number. For the 
first time in my life, I experienced the sensa- 
tion of owning private property, quite apart 
from the objects held in common by the 
household. 

My mother had brought me some sweets, 


55 


Jean Gilles 

and a book by Jules Veme which I devoured, 
fearing I might not be able to finish it before 
the term began. I was just in the mood to 
share the emotions of the hero and shudder 
at his adventures; the marvellous events 
related by the author remained for man y a 
long day, mingled in my mind with the sensa- 
tions I experienced during those last moments 
of the year that witnessed the expiration of 
my personal liberty. 


II 


HE trials of my new life proved so 



severe that I hailed the dormitory 


each evening as a haven of refuge 
where, for a few precious hours, I might be 
freed from the bustle and confusion of the 
crowded days. 

Once in bed, my spirit found a peace I could 
enjoy the more perfectly, because the presence 
of my schoolfellows acted as a check upon 
my customary nocturnal fears. We had to 
go up at eight o’clock directly after supper, 
and so quickly did we throw off our clothes 
and leap into bed, that very few of the boys 
remained awake to hear the half-hour strike 
on the big town clock. I went to sleep much 
later, often not until after the night watch- 
man had made his round. At first, I was 


57 


Jean Gilles 

startled at the entrance of this man, whom one 
never saw by daylight and who only appeared 
thus at night, throwing his shadow upon us 
as he passed from bed to bed. He used to 
hobble in with the uneven sound produced by 
lameness, swinging a dark lantern by one 
hand. From my bed I watched him straighten 
himself on his sound leg to reach the lamp on 
my side of the dormitory; the grimace of his 
twisted countenance was illumined for one 
moment, then a turn of the key strangled the 
pretty blue flame, leaving it to gutter out in 
little hiccoughing spurts. The man limped 
down the long room, sending shafts of light 
on to boys and beds with every swing of his 
lantern, until having extinguished the second 
lamp, he went out, leaving us in darkness. 
The hoarse screech of the bolt followed as he 
shot it home and locked us in; then one be- 
came conscious of the modest night-light, 
hitherto unnoticed in the coarse glare of the 
lamps. It flickered and glimmered upon the 
white curtains of the master’s alcove; a soft 
obscurity reigned beyond its feeble range, 


58 


Jean Gilles 


and diminished one’s resistance to the insi- 
dious invitation of Morpheus. 

By this time, one ventured to extend one’s 
hitherto tightly curled limbs, and gingerly 
explore the chilly length of the bed. The 
windows were opposite to me. The lower 
panes were filled with ground glass, but the 
cold, blue winter night and the twinkling 
stars could be seen through the upper portion. 
The huge apartment gradually filled with 
subdued sounds of breathing. The big fel- 
lows, tired out with work and play, succumbed 
first, lying on their backs with wide-open 
mouths ; their snores mingled with stray words 
and exclamations. Others fought their incli- 
nation to slumber, only to fall victims pres- 
ently to the terrors of nightmare. 

I was generally almost the last to succumb, 
for I revelled in the peace and quiet after the 
rough contact of unfamiliar games, the con- 
straint of study, and the pangs of loneliness. 
I lay on my side, with my face turned to the 
dim half-light, to enjoy the prismatic colours 
reflected through -my eyelashes. Sometimes, 


59 


Jean Gilles 

I remained awake as late as nine o’clock and 
heard the hour strike, with an echo that 
doubled the beats and made them difficult to 
count. The last train whistled in the dis- 
tance; drops of water fell singly from the taps 
and sounded separate notes which I sleepily 
endeavoured to reduce to a tune, till gradually, 
gently, my whole being sank into the realms 
of dreams. 

We rose and dressed by artificial light. 
Stars still glinted above our heads when we 
crossed the courtyard and entered the school- 
room where the gas lamps burned, and the 
feeble warmth of the newly lighted stove 
failed to thaw our chilled frames. The glass 
doors closed behind the last pupil, the mas- 
ter mounted the platform, and another day 
began. 

I sat at a desk in the front row, with another 
boy slightly junior to myself. He was a 
chubby-faced little fellow with wistful eyes 
and a smiling mouth. He wore a black smock 
over his clothes, and his hands were swollen 


6o 


Jean Gilles 

with chilblains. My name amused him, and 
he asked whether he might write it in copper- 
plate for me on all my books and copy books. 
He told me his was Chariot, and that he had 
an elder brother in the Middle division, who 
was a great gymnast. He showed me a little 
soap-box, smelling of scented soap, in which 
he kept the little blue and pink counters he 
gained for good conduct. In return, I exhi- 
bited with pride the new pennies I had found 
in my shoes on Christmas Day; but his eyes 
twinkled when I mentioned the source whence 
I professed to have received them. I saw 
him murmur something to his other neighbour, 
and they both stared curiously at me; a 
whisper ran all through the class, and I grew 
uneasy and put the coins away. Chariot 
drew near me again. While he spoke, he kept 
one eye on the master, and answered my 
questions as much as possible with smiles and 
nods. Suddenly his eyes were riveted to his 
book, and when I repeated my sentence, I 
drew upon myself a reproof from the master, 
who had been watching us. The latter was 


Jean Gilles 


6i 


young and worried-looking; he worked with 
the help of ponderous dictionaries, and was 
often obliged to interrupt his own studies to 
stop the chatter of the pupils, or help someone 
in a difficulty. 

Some of the boys worked diligently but as 
soon as the stove gave out its full heat an 
atmosphere of somnolence spread over the 
classroom. I felt it myself, and was obliged 
to lean over my book to hide my heavy eyes. 
As the sun rose golden behind the trees, one 
or other among us would notice it, and call 
upon his neighbours to share the distraction 
of watching it. Some mornings it blazed so 
red that we began to think the place was 
on fire, and to settle in our minds which of 
our treasures we should save first. 

My other neighbour, Calvat, was short and 
stout; he was such a fidget that it was positive 
pain to him to sit still. After vainly exhaust- 
ing every known excuse for leave to go out- 
side, he would in desperation volunteer to 
collect the scraps of paper from underneath 
the desks. This gave him a splendid oppor- 


62 


Jean Gilles 

tunity to crawl about on all fours among the 
benches, and get near the stove to warm him- 
self, under the pretext of burning the litter. 
But the master was bound to guard against 
any risk of fire, so Calvat was warned off; 
then he would discover that the pan of water 
kept on the lid was empty, and officiously run 
out and refill it at the pump outside. 

Between the stove and the platform stood a 
desk, at which any pupil it was desirable to 
keep under special supervision had to sit. 
The boy who was in present occupation took 
advantage of his proximity to the fire to toast 
a piece of bread he had saved overnight from 
supper for his breakfast. He used to pretend 
to be absorbed in study, and bend low over 
his book, while with one arm extended behind 
him he held the slice to the flame on the end 
of a ruler. The master could not see what he 
was about, and the boys were so accustomed 
to this performance, that they took no notice 
of it. I was told his name was Ravet, and 
that he was held in general contempt on ac- 
count of his inability to learn. He was fear- 


Jean Gilles 63 

fully thin, and the tightness and shortness of 
his clothes further accentuated this condition. 
He mooned about with rounded shoulders, 
elbows stuck out, and purple hands thrust 
into his pockets. 

We had some fun at his expense on one 
occasion. Calvat managed to capture the 
bit of bread without attracting his attention, 
and for some time the whole class sat in sup- 
pressed giggles, watching while he steadily 
held the denuded ruler to the fire. The master 
looked up with a vexed frown, not understand- 
ing the cause of our amusement. Presently, 
he observed the direction of our eyes; and 
when Calvat, with a sly grin, hoisted his little 
figure to the platform and deposited the half- 
toasted slice of bread on the desk, our merri- 
ment burst all bounds, and we broke into 
shouts of laughter. 

The master soon re-established order, the 
bell rang for breakfast, and we filed out to the 
refectory. 

I found myself an object of much specu- 


64 Jean Gilles 

lation at the first recreations; but when I 
refused to join in the games I was soon left 
to myself. One of the boys said he sup- 
posed I was expecting a visit from Father 
Christmas; there was a good deal of chaff, and 
presently the groups broke up and I drifted 
away. Chariot remained with me, and pointed 
with pride to his elder brother, playing foot- 
ball. Judging from the frown on his face one 
might have supposed he was doing so against 
his will. He was something of a bully. One 
afternoon I saw him dash up to his little 
brother, snatch the piece of bread he was eat- 
ing and run back to his game without a word. 
Yet he could easily have got some for himself. 
Food was never denied us. One had only to 
go to the buttery and ask. This was what 
Chariot presently did, and he brought a slice for 
me as well, which I ate,thoughIwasnothungry. 

It was frightfully cold standing still, but I 
was afraid to join the rough throng of boys 
tearing about the playgroimd, and Chariot 
knew he was not good enough to be wanted. 
There were two playgrounds separated by a 


Jean Gilles 


65 


wide path; one was for the Senior division and 
one for the Junior. The Middle division 
played in either, according to age and size. 
The bigger boys of our lot monopolised the 
football and kicked it to each other with 
much shouting; others ran about with a smaller 
ball; and a group of day-boarders, farmers* 
sons, collected together to talk patois and 
play marbles, notwithstanding the chilliness 
of that occupation. They would play with 
one blue, swollen hand, while the other, tucked 
away in some pocket for warmth, fingered 
the coppers won on the game. 

The master strolled up and down, talking 
to a couple of pupils. At the end of the play- 
ground stood the chapel, with a bare hedge 
on either side, across which one could per- 
ceive the kitchen garden, the boundary wall 
of the property, and beyond again, fields, 
houses, a distant hill, and the square tower of 
a church. The school bell rang all too soon 
on these short winter afternoons, and we 
returned, protesting, to the gas-lit school- 
room and our books and exercises. 


5 


66 


Jean Gilles 

There was bustle and noise while the boys 
went to their lockers and pulled out what they 
wanted for their work, but the master soon 
had us in hand again, with a sharp reprimand 
for scuffling or dawdling, and we settled down, 
more or less diligently, to the evening task. 
But there were always some among the num- 
ber who remained idle, to dream of their 
afternoon prowess, or stare out through the 
glass doors at the shadows among the trees, 
gnawing surreptitiously at crusts saved from 
a former meal. Five o’clock struck out in 
the school-yard, the Angelus rang from the 
chapel steeple . . . my thoughts strayed to 
La Grangere; I pictured the shades of dusk 
falling in the garden, the fire burning brightly 
in the little sitting-room, my aunt making 
the sign of the Cross at sound of the bell, and 
myself writing beautiful copper-plate exercises 
at the round table beneath the hanging lamp. 

A rap on the desk recalled me to my duty. 
The master was watching me with displeasure. 
He was stern, but we respected him, because 
he exacted no more from us then he was will- 


Jean Gilles 67 

ing to give himself. He never warmed him- 
self at the stove; he was punctual to the 
minute, and brought no books into class be- 
yond those he required for his studies. Al- 
though his punishments were swift and severe, 
he was always prompt to praise and encourage. 
His name was Laurin. Once, when I re- 
quired help for a mathematical problem be- 
yond my capacity, I went up to the desk. He 
pushed me aside impatiently, but almost 
immediately put out his hand to detain me; 
he continued his search for a word in his 
dictionary, holding my arm the while, gave 
it up, and turning, asked me kindly what I 
wanted. 

Those evening studies were rendered uncom- 
fortable by the presence of the day-boarders, 
who remained until seven o’clock, and crowded 
up the benches. When they left, we had 
more room; we propped the door open to 
admit fresh air, stretched our cramped limbs 
and looked about us with a little relaxation 
from the rigid discipline necessary in a full 
class. Those who had finished their tasks 


68 


Jean Gilles 

could, upon showing them to the master, 
shut up their desks and fetch up a story-book 
from the library. If we had all finished, M. 
Laurin consented to read aloud, as a reward 
for our diligence. In a second, all the books 
would be cleared away, our arms crossed 
comfortably before us, and our attention 
riveted upon him. The gas-jets hummed like 
a hive of bees, while we listened intently to 
blood-curdling adventures of big game hunters 
among wild beasts. 

Less exciting tales were not received in such 
complimentary silence. As far as I was con- 
cerned, however, nothing thrilled me so agree- 
ably as the story of Blanquette, M. Seguin’s 
goat. I followed every step of its wanderings 
in imagination. 

“ Tout a coupy la montagne devint violette; 
c'etaitlesoir- . . . Reviens^disaitlatrompe. . . . 
Hou, hou, faisait le hup. . . ^^He eats 
it in the end,” whispered Chariot, gravely 
nodding his head, the first time I heard 
the story. Poor little chap, the chilblains 
on his hands swelled up so at night, that 


Jean Gilles 69 

he would lay them on the table in front 
of him and sign to me to look at his toads.” 
The pressure of a finger upon them left a 
broad white mark. He rubbed them softly 
against the rough serge of his knickerbockers 
and listened, still smiling, though with a little 
frown of pain on his chubby face. 

The dinner-bell brought our treat to a close. 
We had to file out into the dark courtyard, 
in the cold night air, and allow the Middle 
division to pass by. They used to sneer and 
grin, when they heard us discussing the story 
just read to us. 

By dint of standing apart watching the 
other fellows play, I gradually got to know 
something of their characters. Rupert held 
undisputed sway; his rule was accepted, less 
through fear of his heavy hand than from ac- 
knowledgment of his pre-eminence in all games 
and athletic exercises. Standing squarely, 
with legs wide apart, he could swing back 
his arm and throw a ball farther than anyone 
else ; the thud of his boot on the football was 


70 


Jean Gilles 

heard all over the playground ; he could kick 
it the full length of the ground, and some- 
times even over the hedge into the kitchen 
garden. If it lodged in a tree, he retrieved it 
by throwing wooden balls at it. This hap- 
pened fairly often, and was a pleasing diver- 
sion for us. We used to make a circle round 
him to watch the performance. Calvat 
fielded the balls, and even the Senior division 
interrupted their game and leaned upon the 
railing to look on. Rupert’s voice dominated 
the playground, giving directions, urging on 
the lazy ones, or reproving bad players with 
threatening gestures. Usually nobody dis- 
puted his ruling, but sometimes the elder 
Chariot attempted to argue or justify him- 
self; then Rupert, confident in his supremacy, 
became so indignant that the smaller boy 
was speedily reduced to silence. Rupert’s 
excessive expenditure of energy made him 
get hot very quickly; then he would throw off 
his jacket and toss it to a Junior, who hung 
it on the railing, or carried it on his arm. A 
tight-fitting blue jersey threw into relief his 


Jean Gilles 


71 


ruddy brown hair and fair skin, and revealed 
the play of his swelling muscles. His legs 
were always bare and red. He had no favour- 
ites; indeed, he affected to despise his own 
division, and only condescended to converse 
with those of the Seniors, who threw him an 
occasional observation from their own portion 
of the playground. 

Only one of our fellows was able to attract 
his notice, Mejean, whose evident hero-worship 
flattered the great man. Mejean was the 
best dressed among the boarders. We envied 
his fashionable caps and smart brown boots. 
He wore dark jerseys like Rupert’s, but he had 
collars and cuffs worked in lighter colours, 
and the slightest rent or stain caused him to 
change into another equally fascinating. 
Rupert always chose him in making up a side, 
and passed over his mistakes ; once he honoured 
him by exchanging caps with him for a whole 
recreation. 

Other boys whose acquaintance I had not 
yet made, circled round those two. There 
were some who never played games. Ravet 


72 


Jean Gilles 

was one. He made no friends, and checked 
all advances by imitating, with a silly giggle, 
any observation made to him. He lounged 
about with his eyes on the ground and his 
raw, red hands partially hidden in his tight 
pockets, searching always for any possessions 
that might have been dropped. He collected 
thus marbles, shirt-buttons, uniform buttons, 
penknives, india-rubber, penholders, pencils, 
and even money. Whenever anything was 
missed, Ravet was applied to, and the pro- 
perty could be bought back at the price of one 
or more good-conduct counters, according to 
its value. But a regular procedure had to 
be gone through previously. First he feigned 
ignorance; then he required a full description 
of the lost article, and would begin by attempt- 
ing to foist some object of smaller value on 
the loser. Often he only made restitution 
under stress of kicks and blows. 

Florent and Mouque strolled together, 
reciting their lessons to each other. They 
both had intensely black eyes, but whereas 
Florent's were mild and widely opened, 


Jean Gilles 


73 


Mouque’s were sulky and sly, half concealed 
by bushy eyebrows. When the ball landed 
in their direction, they always sent it back, 
but Mouque’s kick was like an explosion of 
rage. 

Two others were always appealing to the 
master to settle their endless disputes; some- 
times a ring of listeners assembled round them. 
Then Rupert pounced down and separated 
them, shoving them roughly apart; but they 
would continue their argument quite oblivious 
of any interruption, shouting at each other 
across the intervening space. Their discus- 
sions invariably concerned the books they 
were reading; the existence of the Nautilus, 
for instance, or the possibility of Jules Verne’s 
shrapnel shell reaching the moon. They 
were too small and frail to fight; Terrouet 
had sharp features and a pointed chin ; B6reng’s 
cheeks were chubby, his eyes prominent, and 
his mouth overflowing with opinions he stam- 
mered too much to bring out in time. When 
forcibly torn apart they would fall back, 
appeal to their captors, win them over to 


74 Jean Gilles 

their side, and return with an increased fol- 
lowing to resume the interrupted dispute. 
Finally they referred it to M. Laurin, and 
spent the remainder of the recreation with 
him. Bereng was a Spaniard. He spoke in 
complicated phrases, preferring always to 
express his thoughts by means of words not 
in common use; Terrouet’s voluble chaff and 
inextinguishable laughter usually managed to 
disconcert and silence his opponent. They 
never hit each other, or lost their tempers, 
and on rare occasions M. Laurin was even 
able to bring them into agreement. 

Chariot took the greatest interest in all the 
incidents of the recreation. He generally 
stood with his shoulders propped against the 
railings, staring about him with his hands 
tucked under his blouse, whistling softly 
through his clenched teeth. He had an 
extensive repertoire of music he had picked 
up at home from his mother, a teacher of 
music. He was known by the nickname of 
''Grandpapa'’ on account of his wrinkled 
forehead. 


Jean Gilles 


75 


Sometimes, the watchman making his 
nightly round through the dormitory startled 
me out of my sleep. He hobbled through 
all the rooms two or three times during 
the night; his lantern cast a moving circle 
of light on the floor as he walked. He used 
to raise it to scan the features of any boy who 
was talking in his sleep, and would shake the 
iron foot of the bed to silence him. Once 
I woke when he shut off a tap which had been 
running for hours. The sound of the trickling 
water had mingled with my dreams and given 
me the impression of ceaseless falling rain. 
But, as a rule, he merely floated as a wraith 
before our semi-consciousness. The darkness 
closed in again behind him; the master’s 
alcove resumed its likeness to a shrine, the 
long folds of its white curtains seeming to 
shudder and quake under the flickering of the 
night-light. The breathing of many boys, in 
some cases sharp and nasal, in others laboured, 
produced a constant buzz. Rupert, my near- 
est neighbour, slept heavily; his turbulent 
dreams never woke him. Often he would 


76 Jean Gilles 

enact in them the games, fights, or events of 
the day, shouting a name, abusing some fellow, 
throwing his arms about, and even flinging 
himself half out of bed. Another would 
start coughing desperately, and stuff his head 
under the bedclothes to deaden the sound. 
From Florent came the long-drawn moan with 
which he soothed his slumbers. He worked 
well in the day and eluded observation by his 
silence and solitary habits; but the moment 
he fell asleep a soft wailing broke from his 
lips and continued all night. 

From my bed I could see Bereng’s, always 
distinguishable by the quantity of clothes 
heaped upon it. His position was envied by 
us all, because the kitchen chimney ran up 
the wall alongside his bed and gave out a 
certain amount of warmth; but even with this 
advantage, Bereng only consented to undress 
after repeated orders from the master. When 
he did so, he threw everything off in a prodi- 
gious hurry and jumped on to his couch, 
where he sat curled up, pressing his chin 
tightly upon his clasped knees to stop the 


77 


Jean Gilles 

chattering of his teeth. The master forced 
him to lie down between the sheets, but no- 
thing would induce him to extend his legs. As 
soon as the gas was out and M. Laurin in 
his alcove, Bereng spread his jacket and 
trousers over the bedclothes. M6jean slept 
close to him under a warm, scarlet eider- 
down. 

Additional sounds filtered in from the out- 
side: footsteps from the street, the song of a 
passer-by, angry yowling of fighting cats ; but 
at last all was quiet. Peace brooded over us ; 
all the restless spirits were still. It was said 
that Gemon walked in his sleep. Chariot 
was supposed to have seen him one night at 
the foot of his bed, in his long, white night- 
shirt, feeling his way, with wide-dilated eyes. 
— I should have dreaded a nocturnal visit 
from him, but he lay far away beyond the 
alcove. My half-closed eyes rested upon the 
glimmering night-light; the flame quivered 
and danced and took on the semblance of a 
will-o'-the-wisp, beckoning to me, until my 
heavy lids drooped and I slept. 


78 Jean Gilles 

Three long weeks went by on leaden feet 
before I was allowed to go to La Grangere. 
Segonde brought me jam and fresh fruit, 
and pretended my aunt was not well; but I 
think myself that she was acting on the ad- 
vice of the headmaster, who probably thought 
I would settle down better at first without 
the distraction of a half -holiday at home. I 
complained to my mother. I wrote to her 
on Thursdays and Sundays, the regular days 
set apart for home letters. I should have 
done so oftener, had I been able to conceal 
what I was doing, like some of the others, 
but my desk was in the front row, and my 
writing-paper pink. It would have caught 
the master’s eye at once. My mother wrote 
from a little town in Provence ; she exhorted me 
to be patient, to work hard, not to give way 
to low spirits, and to trust always to her un- 
alterable affection for me. I used to carry 
her letters in my pocket, and read them over 
every night when my work was done. I slept 
with them under my pillow. 

I hated the Sunday tramp into the country 


79 


Jean Gilles 

with the school even more than the Thursday 
one. The streets we traversed walking two 
and two like prisoners were gay with holiday- 
makers who stopped to stare at us. I forgot 
my pride in my new uniform when I saw nicely 
dressed children clinging to their mother’s 
hands. When we got beyond the precincts 
of the town the master gave a signal, the 
ranks broke up, and we grouped ourselves 
according to our liking. 

The sights and scents of the country pleased 
me at first, but presently I grew bored and 
languid. The fields were deserted, the farm- 
houses closed, the bells called happier folk 
to church; their sound pervaded the air and 
seemed at times to clang in the grey heavens 
above. We lounged idly along, with an occa- 
sional fillip from the master, who feared lest 
we should not have time to accomplish the 
prescribed round. M. Laurin was not always 
with us. Sometimes the master of the Middle 
division came, and brought half his pupils. 
He was a disagreeable person, with a temper 
soured by the difficulty of managing his unruly 


8o 


Jean Gilles 

class; he was sometimes cross even to us, but 
neither master permitted any lagging behind. 

We walked along in twos and threes. Some, 
of whom I was generally one, preferred to be 
alone. Weeds were beginning to flourish on 
the banks of the ditches; the red berries of 
the hawthorn and the orange fruit of the wild 
rose decked the thick hedges. There was a 
faint odour of decaying leaves; in the far 
distance beyond the bare stumps of the vine- 
yards, the horizon disappeared behind a veil 
of haze. Chariot collected pebbles. He 
moved with bent head, continually stooping to 
pick up one, which was presently rejected in 
favotu- of a finer specimen. In the end, his 
uniform pockets stuck out as prominently as 
those of his week-day smock, which usually 
contained a handkerchief, some string, a top, 
good-conduct counters, chalk, knife, and 
sometimes even more precious possessions 
which Ravet would have given his eyes to 
secure. Some of the stones he gathered and 
showed me were polished like glass, others so 
translucent that he thought they must contain 


Jean Gilles 


8i 


congealed water; one was lovely; it had been 
split in two by a road-mender’s hammer, and 
showed its crystalline heart of pale lilac, the 
colour of the rosary my aunt used in church. 
Two rough ones that we struck together gave 
out sparks and smelt of burning. Chariot 
trotted from one find to another, as busily 
happy as if the road his schoolfellows trod so 
carelessly underfoot were sown with treasure. 
Bereng and Terrouet walked in front, the 
centre of a large group, arguing as usual, each 
endeavouring to persuade his listeners. The 
Middle division, reinforced by Rupert and 
the elder Chariot, led the van. They went so 
fast, that we often called to them to stop. 
Once, when they were waiting for us, they 
attempted to light cigarettes, but the smoke 
betrayed them, and we had to stand by for 
some moments while M. Laurin administered 
a severe reprimand. 

Our walk brought us back to the College 
about dusk. There were lights in the windows 
of the little town ; people were returning home. 
We ran up to the dormitory, changed back 


82 


Jean Gilles 

into everyday clothes, had tea, and found the 
big schoolroom ready for us, warmed and 
lighted. 

The clang of the bell now ushered in the 
dreariest hour of the twenty-four. Our num- 
bers, greatly depleted by the quantity of boys 
away on leave, left large, empty spaces on the 
benches, which inevitably attuned our thought 
to envy of the lucky absentees. We, who 
languished in captivity through punishment, 
or owing to the forgetfulness of friends, were 
the disinherited of the earth. The dreary 
days of the long week had been lightened by 
anticipation of pleasure on Sunday. Early 
mass in the chapel seemed the forerunner of 
delights to come. We could endure the 
morning recreation, the tedious dressing and 
final inspection, but when the day was over, 
the poor prisoners’ sole prospect was an even- 
ing of immobility under the flaring gas-lamps, 
a scrappy supper, and a disciplined undressing. 
— Otir Sunday had been a sad disappoint- 
ment. Story-books failed to please. B6reng 
had heard them all in the course of the past 


83 


Jean Gilles 

four years, and with his arms sprawling over 
his desk, and his heavy head laid upon them, 
would sigh, am so bored !*' when M. Laurin 
begged him to sit up and behave like a gentle- 
man. Even I knew all the contents of the 
Bihliotheque Rose, and was tired of books 
of travel. The good boys played at ^'oughts 
and crosses,*' or looked out places on the map 
of Europe. Mouque alone had the moral 
courage to con over the lessons he had already 
prepared for the next day. If a suppressed 
laugh was heard, M. Laurin, who usually 
objected to the slightest sound, did not raise 
his eyes from his book. The light of the gas 
was reflected in the dark windows. The hours 
dragged fearfully, and for once we longed for 
the sound of the bell. 

One by one the boys who had spent the day 
away came in. We slid along the benches to 
get close to them and hear their news. Some 
had walked by the river with their families, 
among the townspeople. They told us which 
of the day-boarders they had met, and ex- 
hibited the oranges with which their pockets 


84 


Jean Gilles 

were stuffed. They were distinguishable by 
the uniform they still wore, and the light of 
excitement in their eyes. Others arrived in 
time for supper. They sat in their places, 
but gave away their portions, having already 
dined at home. Some, still later, joined us 
on the way up to bed. M6jean was the only 
one who had leave to return after even the 
master had retired to bed and the dormitory 
was quiet for the night. I could hear him 
creep to his bed on the tips of his creaky 
boots, pull off his stiff Sunday shirt, munch 
a last biscuit or drop nuts from his pocket, 
which rolled noisily away under the beds. 

At last, one Sunday, I woke with the de- 
lightful prospect of going home in a few hours. 
Maria had looked in the day before, on her 
way to Market, to say my aunt would call 
for me after High Mass. When I jumped 
into the omnibus I wished it might be for- 
ever! And such a longing to chatter came 
over me that, regardless of the horrid rattling 
of the windows, I poured every detail of my 


85 


Jean Gilles 

new life into my aunt’s willing ears. She 
was quite bewildered, and lost herself in 
the maze of the pictures I conjured up. But 
I was more than willing to repeat every 
thing over again, and I talked so volubly that 
I never noticed our arrival at the farm. 

I hurried to resume possession of my king- 
dom. I ran into the garden, which I had left 
buried in its winter sleep. It was just be- 
ginning to stir. Early snowdrops were every- 
where in bloom, and under some sheltering 
leaves I found a violet. I picked it, but it 
had no scent. The air was mild, I was free, 
and my heart leaped with happiness. The 
day was full of bliss. 

Sundays became the longed-for goal of the 
hated school-weeks. I lived in anticipation 
of them, and behaved circumspectly lest I 
should be deprived of my treat. Saturday 
was an unbearable day, nearly as long as the 
whole of the week put together. I wondered 
how my schoolfellows could resign themselves 
to spend the seventh day just like any other, 
and I shuddered when I looked back to the 


86 


Jean Gilles 

time when I also was a prisoner on Sundays. 
Each visit to La Grangere revealed some fresh 
treasure in the garden. When the snowdrops 
fell victims to the cold nights, the crocuses 
reared their little golden heads; the hyacinths 
exhibited their scented waxen curls; anemones 
followed, and the delicate fronds of lilac, while 
the spikes of the chestnut trees began to 
unveil their beauties. Humble rose-leaves 
ventured forth, and shoots of which I knew 
neither the name nor the promise, broke 
through the brittle soil of the borders. One 
day, I found some periwinkles. I begged my 
aunt to let me invite Chariot. He dared not 
come without his brother, but the latter de- 
clined, so I was able to have my chum. 

His delight almost deprived him of speech. 
He was immensely respectful to Segonde, and 
gazed at my aunt in mute gratitude. At first, 
we attempted a game, but there were too 
many distractions. He leaned ecstatically 
over the marble basin wherein dwelt two gold- 
fish. The moist earth teemed with little flat 
red insects with black marks on their backs; 


Jean Gilles 


87 


Chariot gravely assured me these represented 
their names, inscribed in ink, for fear they 
should lose themselves. They moved side- 
ways, in couples. He discovered snails under 
the box borders, and collected them in his cap; 
we carried them to the hens, and watched 
them peck them to pieces with their cruel 
beaks. Their cackle and bright, inquisitive 
eyes amused Chariot; he bade me observe 
how daintily they picked their way through 
the damp grass. They looked velvety black 
in the shade, but the sunshine clothed them in 
a gleaming coat of armour. We found their 
eggs still warm in the straw, and carried them 
to the kitchen when we were called for lunch. 
Segonde stood at the door and handed us 
slices of bread spread with her choicest ham. 
We ate them in the arbour, amid the checkered 
shadows of the growing leaves. Chariot 
talked to me of his mother. She lived alone, 
he said, but had not written to him for a long 
time because she was away travelling. When 
he was quite small she sent him to a relation 
in the country to be taken care of, and a long 


88 


Jean Gilles 

time elapsed before she was able to go and 
see him; when she did, he had forgotten her 
and called her “Mademoiselle.’' He won- 
dered why she burst out crying. After that 
she sent him to join his elder brother at our 
school. I saw her one Thursday in the play- 
ground with her boys. The Seniors were 
staring at her, whispering and grinning among 
themselves. 

After lunch, we sat watching the quiet 
countryside through the branches of the 
trees. Chariot swung his legs backwards 
and forwards, and whistled a favourite polka 
through his teeth. Suddenly I discovered I 
had overlooked an egg in my pocket and it 
had smashed! We agreed to say nothing 
about it, but we looked so guilty when we 
encountered my aunt’s eagle eye, that I had 
to confess, and was hurried off to have my 
waistcoat cleaned. After that, whenever we 
had eggs in the school refectory Chariot used 
to wink at me, in remembrance of our day at 
La Grangere. 

Happy were those days when, after a long 


Jean Gilles 89 

afternoon spent in the garden, I ran into the 
house in the fading light, to be welcomed by 
the glow of the lamp, the warmth of the fire, 
and the dancing reflections on the polished 
panels of the old furniture! I had obtained 
permission, by special favour, to stay the 
night at La Grang^re and return to school 
early on the Monday morning; so that I had 
the delightful consciousness that I was to 
sleep in my own comfortable bed, and that a 
whole night lay between me and the moment 
of departure. The hours passed pleasantly, 
marked off by the musical tinkle of the clock 
under its glass globe; I enjoyed my book and 
our simple dinner, and the serene evening 
closed with prayer. 

Easter was approaching. We were to 
break up for the holidays on the eve of P alm 
Sunday. Each one of us possessed a pocket 
calendar and scratched off each day as it 
passed. We reckoned up not only the num- 
ber of days, but the hours and minutes as 
well, with, as may be imagined, marvellous 


90 


Jean Gilles 

discrepancies in the result. Printed forms 
were handed to us with a request that we 
should notify the time of our departure, our 
destination, and the form of locomotion we 
proposed to patronise. Rupert, whose father 
was a landed proprietor in the district, was 
to go on foot, alone. Florent was to be 
dropped at his home in the neighbouring 
village with others, by an omnibus hired to 
make the round. Calvat, Me jean, and a few 
more went by train to the market town; 
Bereng, who had anticipated being left at 
school, was after all to go to Spain ; he showed 
us on the map the mountains and plains he 
would traverse on the journey. We were. wild 
with impatience. We younger ones could be 
controlled, but there were queer sounds from 
the Seniors, and the uproar from the Middle 
division reached us through the wall. They 
were quite out of hand; they sang choruses 
and laughed boisterously. A few were kept 
back for a day or two, but as such a punish- 
ment hit the masters equally with their pupils, 
it was not very generally inflicted. 


Jean Gilles 


91 


The longed-for Saturday dawned at last, 
and at four o’clock in the afternoon the first 
batch went off at the same time as the day- 
boarders. I had to wait for Justin to fetch 
me. He was rather late, so that I saw the 
last of the boys escorted to the trains by 
masters. A few of the Senior and Middle 
divisions had to remain till the next morning, 
to expiate their bad conduct. Ravet was to 
stay altogether, and so was Chariot; his elder 
brother had been invited alone to his god- 
father’s house. Calvat had just been caught 
in a nefarious and very remunerative traffic 
with oranges which he had carried on with 
the assistance of a day-boarder, so he was 
punished by two days’ detention at school. 
I promised to fetch Chariot often to spend the 
day, but as I drove off I looked back and saw 
him wiping away his tears in the dreary waste 
of the playground. 

I returned to the uneventful daily round at 
La Grangere. A letter just received from my 
mother, announced her return from the South 
and her probable visit to us the following 


92 


Jean Gilles 

week. My aunt read aloud the part of the 
letter that concerned me; it was full of tender- 
ness and happy anticipation. I appreciated 
it all the more for having been so long de- 
prived of personal happiness. On Sunday, 
we carried branches of flowering laurel to 
church to be blessed. They smelt delicious, 
and Segon^e fastened them to the cruci- 
fixes above our beds. With the advent of 
Holy Week, a universal hush fell upon our 
little comer of the world. Even the town, 
whither I aceompanied my aunt to Benedic- 
tion, was wrapped in a religious calm. On 
Good Friday and Holy Saturday, the streets 
were deserted. The weather was grey. We 
walked with bent heads against a tempestuous 
wind; we met only a few devout women 
stmggling like ourselves to Tenebrae or The 
Way of the Cross; their quiet footsteps echoed 
among the closed shop fronts. We prayed 
before a crucifix veiled in purple. No bells 
rang. “They have gone to Rome,” said 
Segonde. “One must get up very early in 
the morning to see them start.” I ventured 


Jean Gilles 


93 


no response. My faith in her information 
had been somewhat shaken by the discovery 
that she had misled me in the matter of Father 
Christmas, but the universal silence produced 
a peculiar impression upon me. The re- 
sources of the house sufficed for our food. My 
aunt contented herself with a meal of jam 
and dairy produce. I think she ate nothing 
at all on Good Friday; she said that even the 
birds abstained from food that day. There 
was a feeling of suspense about all nature. 
I found distraction in the long hours spent in 
the mild atmosphere of the garden; the sound 
of the wind in the trees, the scent of the grass, 
the sticky sheaths of the buds, the twitter of 
sparrows, the delicate powdering of blossom 
on hedges and apple trees were pleasure and 
entertainment enough for me. The mass of 
bloom in the orchard perftimed the air with 
almond and honey; butterflies, bumble-bees, 
and bright-coloured insects flitted from flower 
to flower. I was ready and eager to let my 
joy break forth. 

My mother arrived on Easter Eve, and 


94 


Jean Gilles 

brought my father’s excuses. He was unable 
to leave town. My awakening next morning 
was delirious with bliss. My mother’s tender 
embrace, the carolling of bells, the exhilara- 
tion of the morning air on the way to early 
Mass in the neighbouring village, all contri- 
buted to the day’s delight. My mother and 
aunt received Holy Communion side by .side, 
kneeling at the altar-rails, while I watched 
the sun stain the east window with crimson 
and gold. We came out of church amidst a 
throng of happy faces and babbling voices. 
We congratulated each other on the lovely 
weather; the poor received alms, and the snow 
of the apple trees seemed to have flown up- 
ward to add to the glory of the sky! . . . 
''Christ is risen,” said my mother to me, and 
I echoed the salutation, throwing my arms 
about her neck. Her expression, usually so 
troubled, was serene. Rows of young wheat 
sprouted between the ridges of rich brown 
earth. She murmured, ''This glorious weather 
Alls one with content!” I wanted to run and 
shout for the mere joy of being alive. 


95 


Jean Gilles 

Later in the day, I went to the College to 
fetch Chariot. I found him in the playground 
with a master of the Senior division. He and 
Ravet were playing together. The croquet- 
ground was deserted; the hoops stood rusting, 
the mallets lay on the ground, the football 
was lodged in a tree, and the master was 
reading. He allowed Chariot to run up and 
change his clothes at once. Ravet consented 
to talk while I waited, then watched us depart, 
with his raw knuckles stuffed into his pockets. 
It did not occur to me to ask him to come too. 

My mother left us very soon, but promised 
to return, and perhaps to bring my father 
with her. Her departure left me solitary. I 
found myself thinking, without any of the 
old shrinking, of the bustle of the playground, 
the rough shoving of the boys, the occasional 
kick at the football when it came one's way, 
one's surprise at being suddenly seized by the 
shoulders and used as a buffer between two 
players, and Rupert's favourite game of 
threatening the little ones with a ball until he 
caught them off their guard and then quickly 


96 Jean Gilles 

hurling it, striking them in a vulnerable spot. 
What an atmosphere of turbulence he would 
have introduced into our quiet garden! He 
would probably have climbed the trees, and 
wounded young sparrows with his catapult. 
Chariot was only interested in following in- 
sects about on all-fours and collecting snails. 
Still, I did not fail to fetch him often, although 
even the few minutes I had to spend waiting 
in the deserted building depressed me. The 
sound of scales reached me, played by some 
master trying to kill time; I could hear a 
gardener digging in the kitchen garden, a 
servant whistling in the empty rooms. I hur- 
ried Chariot away as soon as possible. He told 
me Ravet was instituting a systematic search 
through all our lockers, and was a dreadful 
tease at night, after the master, thinking 
the boys were asleep, had retired to his room. 

The days slipped by agreeably, in mild 
weather under cloudless skies. I enjoyed 
the peace and inaction, loved the fresh morn- 
ings, and the mellow afternoons when no 
sound was heard but the heavy flop of the 


Jean Gilles 97 

chestnut blooms as they fell to earth. I sat 
on a bench, my thoughts roaming far from my 
book, while I crumbled my lunch to attract a 
brood of tiny chicks, and the mother hen 
pecked at the bright eyelet holes of my laced 
shoes. The evenings grew so fine, that my 
aunt came out with me on the terrace one 
night after dinner; a soft light outlined the 
roof of the bam, and presently the moon rose 
from behind it serene and majestic. It sailed 
slowly behind a mass of cloudlets which took 
on the appearance of hills and valleys. My 
aunt thought she could descry the figure of a 
man carrying a load of wood, but Terrouet had 
convinced me that the moon was uninhabited ; 
he had a bet with B6reng that it was as dead 
as the earth would some day be, and M. Laurin 
had borne out the correctness of his statement. 
The atmosphere freshened; we returned to 
the house and went to our roo ms . My old 
night terrors awoke to life and I caught myself 
thinking regretfully of the night-light, the 
protecting alcove, and the companionship of 
the school dormitory. 


Ill 


W E returned to school. There were 
green leaves on the trees of the 
playground, tiny things that 
scarce cast a shadow on the ground beneath. 
The great elms which had previously been 
covered with a soft purple moss, and then 
decked with thousands of green sequins, now 
shed showers of little scales. The gardeners 
swept them up daily after five o’clock. We 
could hear their brooms and the quarrels of 
the sparrows through the open windows. The 
weather had become much hotter. We played 
in shirt-sleeves, and quickly became flushed 
and overheated. Some of us gathered in groups 
under the trees to read, or show each other 
the stamps we had collected during the holi- 
days. Nearly everyone had come back with 
new clothes; Me jean had a smart grey tweed 

98 


99 


Jean Gilles 

suit and a straw hat ; Rupert a drill jacket and 
trousers; B6reng had pretty neckties, but he 
soon exchanged them for a pocket-knife of 
Calvat’s. The boys took into wear the thin 
underclothing provided by their parents for 
the summer, at once; the playground looked 
quite festive, but the day-boarders were still 
distinguished by whiter collars and better 
blacked boots. 

There was a new boy in our division. He 
was twelve years old, extraordinarily hand- 
some, but so dull of expression that his coun- 
tenance was thereby deprived of charm. He 
was, as I had been, stared at with much curi- 
osity at first, but his complete indifference 
soon freed him from the attentions of his 
schoolfellows. At recreations, he stood with 
his back against a tree, or sat on the step of 
a classroom, gazing vacantly into space, with 
his hands resting, palms upwards on the 
ground beside him. M. Laurin desired me 
to give my desk up to him, and relegated me 
to the other end of the room among the boys 
of the fifth class. I sat between Mouque and 


100 Jean Gilles 

a little table occupied only by Rupert. Char- 
iot begged for permission to move with me, 
but was refused. He told me in the evening 
at supper that his new neighbour, whose 
name was Daunis, had lent him some golden 
ink to write his name on his copy books. 
They had both painted their nails with it. I 
was delighted with my new place. When 
Mouque’s exercises were finished, he did my 
sums for me. He worked in large round 
spectacles on account of some defect in his 
vision; when I spoke to him he looked at me 
over the top of his glasses, which gave him a 
certain air of maturity that rather intimidated 
me. He took pains to warn me at once that 
I need not suppose I had been promoted 
because I was allowed to sit beside him. He 
said I still belonged to the sixth class. Rupert 
was very slow over his work ; he used to gnaw 
the end of his penholder, and wipe it on the 
tablecloth like a paint-brush. He wrote 
very little, but quickly. He did fairly well 
on the whole, but when he encountered any 
difficulty he always sent a little note to Mouque 


Jean Gilles 


lOI 


to ask for help. The latter would shrug his 
shoulders, and say he had no time to bother 
about other fellows; but presently relented 
and gave the required information, vowing 
each time that he would never do so again. 
As I sat between the two, all the messages 
had to pass through me. Rupert coughed 
gently and threw a folded paper under my 
chair; I grovelled for it and handed it to my 
neighbour, who pretended not to see it; when 
the answer was ready I leaned forward and was 
careful to place it conveniently on Rupert's 
table, but he never thanked me by so much 
as a glance. Sometimes he ordered me to tell 
Mouque he wished to speak to him, and they 
conversed above my bent head. One day I 
saw Calvat, who was picking up the pieces of 
waste paper as usual, pinch him viciously in 
the calf. Rupert did not cry out as Calvat 
had hoped; he merely kicked him over, and 
pulled up his leg to stroke it, without even 
looking up from his book. 

Rupert was also my neighbour in the dormi- 
tory. Every evening I watched him, at the 


102 


Jean Gilles 

given signal, walk over to his bed and begin 
to undress. He threw off his coat, and soft 
shirt, and kneaded his bare back and chest. 
I was surprised at his not wearing flannel, but 
when I made a remark about it, he said he 
left that sort of thing to women, so that I felt 
ashamed of my warm vest with long sleeves. 
Even before Easter he had asked leave to 
wash himself down to the waist at night; but 
M. Laurin would not allow it, so he had to 
content himself with perfunctory massage 
and physical exercises which were quickly 
imitated by Mejean, Mouque, and Bereng, 
and as quickly prohibited by the master. 
When he had pulled on his night-shirt, he 
jumped into bed, disposed himself with his 
face towards me to avoid the light, and fell 
asleep at once. Meanwhile, I progressed but 
slowly with my undressing; I had not yet 
learned the trick of pulling off knickerbockers, 
pants, and stockings all in one. 

At six in the morning, the prolonged ringing 
of the school bell was the signal for our rising. 
A few minutes before, M. Laurin issued from 


103 


Jean Gilles 

his alcove, whence we had previsously heard 
him performing his ablutions, and walked up 
and down the dormitory. Habit, the dawn- 
ing light, and the final round of the night 
watchman had awakened us all by this time. 
The master rapped three times on a table 
when the bell started, and we bounded out 
of bed, put on our breeches, and ran to the 
row of basins. As there were not enough for 
everybody, those who dawdled had to wait 
their turn, shivering. I was always one of 
the latter, and used to spend the interval 
staring through the steamy windows at the 
light dawning in the sky, turning to iridescent 
beads the innumerable drops of moisture on 
the glass. We yawned in the oppressive 
atmosphere, and although the master kept 
strict watch, many of the boys made but scant 
use of the soap and cold water. Some, how- 
ever, washed so thoroughly as to prevent 
others having time to do so. Bereng, Mejean, 
Terrouet, although they had been punished 
for the practice times without number, turned 
the taps on so hard, that the water spurted 


104 Jean Gilles 

upwards and they were able to rub their 
faces with both hands under the flowing 
stream. Rupert used to pull on his breeches 
under cover of the bed-clothes, so that at the 
signal he could spring out and secure a basin ; 
then, standing with his shirt thrown open 
at the neck and his sleeves turned up, he 
covered his head, face, neck, and arms with 
a thick lather of soap, which left its scent on 
his skin and hair for the rest of the day. The 
elder Chariot hated cold water; his little 
brother scrubbed his face vigorously, squeez- 
ing up his eyes and mouth to prevent the soap 
getting into them. Calvat was careless and 
dilatory, and Ravet simply dipped his towel 
in water, and hung it on the rod at the foot of 
his bed. Many merely did what was ren- 
dered necessary by the watchful eye of the 
master. We discovered the very first day 
that the new boy would willingly have evaded 
washing; he had to be pulled out of bed, 
and was such a hopeless dawdle that M. 
Laurin was obliged to let him remain after 
the others, to finish dressing. He wore long 


Jean Gilles 105 

hair, as soft and fine as a girFs. He woke the 
first night, crying for his mother. 

The weather was becoming so warm that 
the door of our classroom, which faced the 
afternoon sun, was no longer kept closed after 
luncheon. I had an uninterrupted view from 
my seat of the empty playground, where the 
sparrows took dust-baths and darted after 
each other, and the leaves dropped slowly 
from the big trees. Sometimes I could hear 
the tiny boys in the infants’ division droning 
their lessons in unison, guided by raps from 
the mistress’s ruler 

Ven-fant me-chant 

V e-tang char-mant^ 

Luce — Russe — Puce, . . . 

— or a little song they repeated so often that 
I could have sung it in my sleep at last — 

Voky vole, petite mouche, 

Sur ma main ne te pose pas; 


io6 Jean Gilles 

Car si par malheur je te louche, 

Je le crains, tu periras. 

Un mifait cruel 
Offense le ciel. . . . 

They were practically babies in that divi- 
sion, with frilled collars, and hair tied up with 
ribbon. They had their recreation at sepa- 
rate times from ours. 

Maps, coloured prints representing the 
different races of the world, and botanical 
pictures hung upon our walls. There was also 
a representation of the death of Chramne, son 
of Clotaire, whose name I never could find in 
my history-book. In the first weeks of my 
life at school, these were quite sufficient to 
distract my attention from lessons, and to set 
me dreaming idly about the “Mer Australe” 
or the “Cordill^re des Andes”; but now that 
the sun shone, I preferred to watch the slow 
swaying of the branches, and imagine the 
river and fields lying beyond the boundary wall 
which was just visible, over the top of the 
kitchen garden hedge. 


Jean Gilles 107 

Although the classroom was large and lofty 
and the heatof the day was over by five o’clock, 
M. Laurin used to leave one of the doors open 
even in the evening, but one day the head- 
master came through on a visit of inspection, 
and ordered it to be shut. We hardly ever 
saw the great man except on these occasions. 
He used to come in unexpectedly, and throw 
a searching glance round, to see how we were 
behaving. The instant we caught sight of 
him, we all bent over our desks, furtively con- 
cealing a forbidden book, or slipping a letter 
into a copy-book. With hardly a percepti- 
ble movement, complete order was estab- 
lished, yet not quickly enough to deceive the 
eagle eye of the Head, who instantly spotted 
anything wrong, or perceived the blush on 
a guilty cheek. He perambulated slowly 
round the room, pointed to some boy sitting 
in a bad position, or opened a locker, which was 
always sure to be the untidiest in the room, 
and went out, bowing to the attentive master. 
A sigh of relief signalised his departure. 

In comparison to this visitation, the much 


io8 


Jean Gilles 


more frequent appearances of the general 
superintendent left us cold. His office stood 
within sight of all; he showed himself at the 
slightest unusual sound in the playground ; he 
was present when we filed into the class- 
rooms or refectory, and often visited the 
dormitories. We knew him almost as well 
as our own ushers. But an interview with 
the headmaster was an awe-inspiring affair. 
There were two entrances to his room, one of 
which was padded, so that no sound could 
escape beyond it. When a lecture from the 
superintendent failed to effect an improve- 
ment in the conduct of some pupil who had 
been reported by his master, the contuma- 
cious one was summoned into the presence 
of the dreaded authority; from this ordeal 
he would issue in tears, and we could never 
find out what had happened. The tense 
silence which usually followed upon such an 
event was broken only by the gasping sobs 
of the delinquent. Sometimes the head- 
master walked through the dormitory at night, 
waking a snoring boy here or there, much to 


109 


Jean Gilles 

the startled amazement of the latter. The 
news was passed from bed to bed in the morn- 
ing and finally some one bolder than the 
rest ventured to tell the master. He would 
then exhort us to be always on our best 
behaviour. On winter evenings when we 
went out, we could see the window of the head- 
master’s office; his long, thin shadow bending 
over book or writing was outlined on the 
blind. At sight of it, voices were lowered and 
footsteps hushed. 

One day a rumour ran through the school 
that the master of the Middle division had 
himself been haled before the dreaded pres- 
ence. Groups of boys gathered outside to see 
him come out, but unluckily the school bell 
rang and lessons had to begin. The super- 
intendent took the absent master’s division. 
When the latter came back to his class, his 
countenance was flushed and he walked 
absently up and down his platform for a long 
time. He scribbled off a letter, but tore it 
up at once. The pupils he had treated so 
despotically giggled among themselves and 


no 


Jean Gilles 

made a hissing sound, indicative of hostility. 
He lost his temper. We heard him storm at 
the ringleader and turn him out of the room. 
Presently the superintendent brought the boy 
in to us. Two days later, the master left 
after morning school and a new man took his 
place at ten o’clock. We heard through one 
of the day-boarders that he had been con- 
cerned in a row at a caf6 in the town; it was 
also said that he smoked when walking out 
with his division, and got up too late in the 
morning. 

My mother’s letters were as affectionate as 
ever, but they gradually became graver in 
tone, and she no longer referred to her inten- 
tion of coming to the farm with my father. 
My longing for the holidays, which had been 
momentarily stayed, woke into a fresh life; I 
felt alone in a crowd. I used to envy Florent 
and Mouque who walked about everywhere 
together, and sat down to read out of the same 
book, their heads almost touching as they 
waited for each other at the bottom of the page. 


Ill 


Jean Gilles 

Bereng and Terrouet were inseparable although 
they quarrelled constantly. The five day- 
boarders shared the goodies they brought from 
home for lunch, and the same faults were to be 
found in all their exercises. The link between 
Calvat and Ravet offered peculiar points. 
They were always interchanging small objects, 
which they hastily concealed when anybody 
looked at them, and the chink of money could 
occasionally be heard in their hands. Rupert 
was the only one among us who seemed to 
feel no need of a friend; he treated his adoring 
satellite Me jean with complete indifference, 
and would probably not have put himself out 
for him in any way beyond protecting him 
from violence. He was completely engrossed 
in games and seemed to care for nothing but 
his football. It amused him to butt in be- 
tween two chums talking to each other and 
knock their heads together with his strong 
hands. He made himself pleasant only to the 
Seniors, whose ranks he longed to join; in his 
own division he discouraged all advances. I 
should have loved to have him for a friend. 


II2 Jean Gilles 

I had a feeling that he did not even see 
me. 

One day, a sudden shower sent us scamper- 
ing to take shelter under the sloping roof of 
a shed. We kicked up so much dust running 
about in the confined space that the masters 
tried to keep us quiet. Their voices were 
scarcely audible amidst the tumult, but 
Rupert placed his services at their disposal 
formed us all up in a row, and forbade us to 
move. A few disobeyed and stepped out of 
the line; but he pushed them back and pro- 
mised to cuff the head of the first who stirred. 
I took a step to the front. He gave me a big 
smack in the face and passed on. I fell back 
into my place more grieved than angry. 

Another time it chanced that my class had 
the same composition as the fifth. I saw 
Rupert thinking hard about the subject, so 
I set to work with affected energy. I man- 
aged to attract his attention. The story was 
that of a pointsman whose duty compelled 
him to turn the train on to the line where his 
little child was playing. When I had filled 


Jean Gilles 113 

my four pages, I handed them to Rupert and 
asked what he thought of them. He read 
them over carefully. The next day the 
professor came to the classroom, saw that 
our seats were next to each other, wagged his 
head, and pointed out to the master the 
similarity of our two compositions. I was 
accused of having copied Rupert’s. The 
latter flushed, but said nothing, and the master 
merely supposed he was afraid of being 
punished for having helped me. Alas, the 
following Sunday I was not allowed to go to 
La Grangere! 

I had to walk with the others. The road 
was white with dust; there were no trees, and 
the broiling sun beat down in full force on 
the shadeless expanse. The only protection 
afforded was that of a high bank bordering 
the side of the road. I did my best to keep 
within its narrow limits. I was not unhappy ; 
I had no regret for what had happened ; on the 
contrary, I was borne up by a kind of elation 
I would not willingly have bartered for the 
calm repose of the farm. My schoolfellows 


1 14 Jean Gilles 

trod heavily, hands in pockets and handker- 
chiefs tucked under their caps to shelter their 
necks. Whenever they could elude obser- 
vation they dawdled behind to pick cherries or 
green fruit from the orchards we passed. 
Chariot collected insects in a cardboard box 
ventilated with pin-holes. Sometimes he 
showed me a special find. Suddenly Rupert 
ranged up alongside of me. He looked very 
hot, and had taken off his waistcoat and hung 
it over his shoulders. He pushed his arm 
within mine, and we walked some way with 
out speaking. We passed a vineyard where 
stood a cherry tree so laden with fruit that a 
lot of the boys stopped and eyed it longingly; 
but the master bade them walk on. Rupert 
asked whether I was thirsty, and, without 
waiting, for my answer, knelt down as if to 
tie up his shoe-lace, allowed the others, includ- 
ing the master, to pass him, sprang over the 
low hedge, and disappeared among the vines. 
He rejoined me at a turn of the road, appear- 
ing suddenly from behind a tree. He said 
nothing for a moment or two, but presently 


Jean Gilles 


115 


pulled a handful of cherries from his pocket 
and stuffed it into mine. We ate them fur- 
tively. Ravet was the only one whose sus- 
picions had been aroused. He came circling 
round us, and Rupert was forced to buy his 
silence. He remained by my side throughout 
the walk; the time passed all too quickly for 
me. 

I was confident that I had at last won my 
schoolfellow's regard, and I did not grudge the 
price paid for it. I pondered happily on the 
pleasure his friendship promised to bring into 
my life, and was quite surprised when, on 
being sent for to the parlour, I found Justin, 
who had come from my aunt to inquire how 
I had borne my punishment. I was perfect- 
ly serene, and he went away reassured. When 
I went back to the schoolroom, Rupert's head 
was buried in a book. I tried in vain to 
attract his attention. Afterwards, at supper, 
I let Ravet and Calvat have my share — I 
only ate a little fruit. I saw Rupert had 
forgotten all about me. He pretended not to 
see me when we went up to bed. I walked 


ii6 Jean Gllles 

slowly up the staircase with Daunis, who was 
always last. As we entered the dormitory, 
I tripped and caught at his shoulder to save 
myself from falling; this brought my face 
close to his and on a sudden impulse I threw 
my arms round his neck and kissed him. 

The new master found great difficulty in 
maintaining order in his classroom. The 
boys speedily discovered that his severity 
was only a cloak assumed to conceal his 
agonised shyness. Videux, who was cele- 
brated in the Middle division for self-asser- 
tion and coolness, used to amuse himself by 
staring until he forced the unfortunate young 
man to turn away his eyes; he also agitated 
him by pretending to conceal something 
behind a screen of books; in fact he spared 
him none of the traditional annoyances. We 
heard all about it from the elder Chariot, who 
retailed the fun to a group of us in the play- 
ground. The new master had a very long 
nose ; he found this unfortunate feature 
reproduced in chalk everywhere, even on the 


Jean Gilles 


117 

sacred precincts of the platform; the boys also 
called attention to it by blowing their own 
noses incessantly. He blushed easily, and 
when put out of countenance hung his head; 
the whole of the class would then imitate him. 
He had very little self-control, and Videux 
could drive him half crazy by feigning deaf- 
ness when addressed by him; once he even 
brushed past him in the doorway and trod on 
his foot. The master refrained with difficulty 
from striking him. The division was enjoy- 
ing itself hugely. Sounds of laughter and 
shouting penetrated oftener than ever, through 
the partition. When the uproar began, M. 
Laurin would cast an anxious glance at his own 
pupils. The spirit of mischief gained upon us ; 
Ravet beat time with a ruler, and we all felt 
strongly inclined to follow the example of our 
seniors. One boy, who had hitherto behaved 
in an exemplary manner, began to show off. 
One evening he put his cap on his head, tied 
some string reins to his desk, and pretended 
to drive a fiery team. M. Laurin was taken 
aback at first, but then, noting the hostile 


ii8 Jean Gilles 

look in his eye, went over to him. To the 
master’s remonstrance, the boy, who was 
called Fortin, replied that he was bored and 
must do something to amuse himself. M. 
Laurin looked at the exercise he had finished 
and gave him leave to read, although it was not 
yet time to do so. The next day he repeated 
his bad conduct and the permission to read 
did nothing to disarm him. Threats of 
explusion were also useless. The division 
was thrilled at the prospect of a row, and at 
last, when Fortin made us all laugh, the 
master’s patience gave way and he ordered 
him to leave the room. He walked out with 
an impertinent attempt at swagger, bearing 
in his hand a note addressed to the super- 
intendent. We saw nothing more of him for 
the rest of the day. In the evening, we found 
him in bed; his supper had been sent up to 
him. He behaved better for the next few 
days, but he knew we were counting upon 
him. 

M. Laurin was working hard for his degree. 
The examination was to take place shortly 


Jean Gilles 119 

and he began to show signs of strain. The 
forbearance he had exercised in his manage- 
ment of the division had exhausted him. 
He was still discreet in his dealings with 
Fortin, but wotild brook no nonsense from the 
little ones. One of the latter, whose place 
was near the platform, had an exasperating 
trick of giggling. He was a day-boarder 
of the infant class, pale, with almost colour- 
less hair and eyes. When called to order, he 
bent over his task, stuck out his tongue, and 
moved his whole body in unison with his 
hand and arm, but the slightest movement 
or cough an3rwhere distracted his attention, 
and with his penholder between his teeth he 
would sit and grin to the great annoyance of 
M. Laurin, who gave him long impositions. 
Yet the child was not wanting in concentra- 
tion. I once saw him watch a fly on his desk 
so closely that M. Laurin had to speak to him 
twice, and finally give a sharp rap of the ruler 
on the table to recall him to his duty. Even 
the more sensible boys manifested symptoms 
of stress. These showed themselves chiefly 


120 


Jean Gilles 

in the extra vigour the active ones put into 
football and prisoner’s base, while the others 
found relief in lazing about on the chapel 
steps. Terrouet organised a man-hunt, ” 
inspired by his books of adventure. The 
Seniors played no games, but propped their 
elbows on the railing which separated their 
playground from ours, and made efforts 
to engage us in conversation regardless of the 
severe punishments entailed by this breach 
of the rules. Their master feigned not to 
notice them, but ours prevented us from an- 
swering by gathering about him all those he 
found on the boundary line. The Seniors 
dubbed him ''Socrates,” probably because 
of the long cloak he wore with one end flung 
over his shoulder. Videux, pale, hollow- 
chested, and snub-nosed, called him "the 
Jesuit,” and Bereng even ventured to write 
the word in the sand when M. Laurin was 
about to pass. 

The evenings were growing mild. A grace- 
ful acacia hemmed in between the elms was 
covered with white blossom. 


Jean Gilles 


I2I 


Daunis’s handsome face attracted every- 
one’s regard, but his indifference rendered 
any attempt at friendship abortive. He used 
to find notes from the Seniors concealed in 
his books; he read them on the sly, with 
his head hidden behind the cover of his big 
atlas, smiled, but made no attempt to answer 
them, although Courtot, who sat behind him, 
urged him to do so. Courtot had the voice 
and manners of a little girl. He used to 
make great efforts to obtain notice from the 
Seniors, but without much result; conse- 
quently he was deeply interested in Daunis’s 
correspondence with them. He even ven- 
tured to answer several of the letters on be- 
half of his friend, in the gold ink belonging to 
the latter. Courtot had more success with 
Bereng, who used to write verses to him; 
they were always shown round at once, by 
both author and recipient. I copied a few. 
Some, like the following, were entitled Rherie, 
and said to be “unfinished” — 

Cetait par une nuit sereine et sans etoile, 

Sur V Ocean, on ne voyait aucune voile; 


122 


Jean Gilles 

Parfois, le cri d'une mouette^ rauque et rudey 

Reveillait les echos de cette solitude, , . , 

Others were more didactic — 

Ces versj d Vun de mes amis je les dedie, 

Afin quHl apprenne ce que la calomniey 
Entre camarades, pent causer de ravages, , , . 
Surtout ne Vouhlie pas car c'est un conseil sage, 

Courtot did not follow the sensible advice 
given in the above lines. He was far too fond 
of gossiping and even slandering. This pro- 
pensity gained him the nickname of “the 
portress.’’ Daunis, lymphatic and fair of 
skin, was called “ bread-and-milk, ” a name 
that stuck to him for a long time. He was 
so devoted to drawing that he neglected his 
lessons to practise the art; his exercise-books 
were filled with sketches, and all the pictures 
in his history book were coloured with chalks. 
He spent the whole of his recreation-time 
drawing. It was the only thing I ever saw 
him take any interest in. When he was 
absorbed in this amusement he looked extra- 
ordinarily handsome; his eyes brightened and 


123 


Jean Gilles 

his lips relaxed into a smile; his upper lip was 
so faultlessly modelled that it reminded me of 
the outspread wings of an angel, and I imagined 
him to be gifted with all the qualities I myself 
lacked. One afternoon he stayed in after 
the others to draw a caricature of me on the 
blackboard ; he did the face in profile, but the 
eye was placed as if full-face, with a tiny pupil 
in one comer. It was instantly recognised 
when we came in and Courtot rushed to the 
board, scribbled '‘Portrait of Gilles” under- 
neath it, and signed it with the artist’s nick- 
name. M. Laurin burst out laughing when 
he saw it, and marvelled at the likeness. 

The same day I found some flowers in my 
locker and was pleased and thrilled, but I 
soon guessed the name of the donor when I saw 
Chariot smiling and signing to me that he 
had nothing to do with the gift. 

The hot days of June trailed their slow 
length along. The reluctant dusk faded un- 
willingly from the playground where we now 
had a late recreation after supper, the dura- 


124 


Jean Gilles 

tion of which depended upon the light. 
This last playtime of the day was never 
noisy. Some of the boys collected the 
blossoms fallen from the acacia tree, and 
sucked the sweet pistils or sniffed apprecia- 
tively at the scented heaps in their hands; 
others sat or lay about the steps, talking; a 
few, more active than the rest, wandered 
about like unquiet spirits seeking some mis- 
chief to do. One evening they hit upon the 
plan of setting fire to a lot of waste paper 
they had crammed into the inside of a hollow 
elm tree. Ravet furnished matches and Ru- 
pert applied them. M. Laurin was some dis- 
tance away and did not notice what they were 
about, but Chariot ran to him in a fright 
and reported what was going on. 

All the fellows decided that the informer 
should be sent to Coventry. I was cautioned 
not to speak to him. The punishment did 
not seem to promise much success, as Chariot 
did not play games; but the next day, every 
group melted at his approach, and presently 
the whole school hissed him. Chariot, with 


125 


Jean Gilles 

his shoulders hunched against the railings and 
his hands in his pockets, grinned sheepishly 
and mumbled, '' I don’t care — ” His tumbled 
blouse hung straight from his neck. His 
brother was not sparing of reproaches. I 
was alone at the end of the playground. 
Chariot came towards me, but all the boys 
followed, and his embarrassment was pal- 
pable. I watched him advance haltingly, 
smiling rather wistfully — I moved away. 
When I ventured to look rotmd. Chariot was 
still reiterating, '' I don’t care — I don’t care — ” ; 
but his lips were quivering. M. Laurin in- 
terposed on his behalf. 

At the following recreations, the persecu- 
tion was kept up in a modified form. The 
little fellow was left religiously alone and not 
spoken to by anybody. He pretended to be 
indifferent, and played quietly in a corner 
with his marbles; in the evening he picked 
up acacia blossoms and sat apart sorting them 
in his pinafore, but two boys of the Middle 
division, pretending to chase each other, 
stumbled over him purposely and scattered 


126 


Jean Gilles 

his collection. The pangs of remorse began 
to assail me. In the dormitory, after the 
lights were out, I heard muffled sobs. I got 
up and went over to Chariot’s bed. He was 
crying bitterly, with his head stuffed under 
the pillow to stifle the sound. I leaned over 
him and uncovered his face gently, but he 
gave me an angry glance from his suffused 
eyes, and turning his back upon me, exclaimed 
peremptorily, “Get away!” I desisted. 

For two days more, he bore his ostracism. 
Daunis was the only one who spoke to him, 
and I would gladly have done so, but he would 
not allow me to go near him. The third day 
he was taken ill at morning school and sent up 
to bed. In the evening, he was transferred to 
the Infirmary. My remorse became so acute 
that I could think of nothing else. I seized 
my chance during the noise and bustle of an 
afternoon recreation, and ran to the Infirmary. 
With a beating heart, I pushed open the door; 
the noise I made startled a black object, 
which bounded from the bed and ran out 
between my legs. “Oh, you have frightened 


127 


Jean Gilles 

the cat away!” the little patient exclaimed, 
and begged me to leave the door open so that 
it might come back again. He was in no 
pain, but was so exhausted that he felt as if 
he had not a bone in his whole body. He 
amused himself by drawing landscapes with 
coloured chalks. He gave me one; it repre- 
sented a great red sun decorated with innumer- 
able rays. I told him I had escaped from 
the playground to pay him a visit. He 
smiled as he listened, but seemed quite indiffer- 
ent to this mark of a friendship I had with- 
held from him at the critical moment. He 
was perfectly content. The matron showed 
him every kindness; he had plenty of books, 
and the cat kept him company. '‘What! the 
blind cat?” I cried in astonishment. I won- 
dered how he had managed to tame it. The 
animal was called so because it had a wall-eye 
and the other was half closed. We sometimes 
caught sight of it, scampering away when we 
entered the dormitory or the refectory. The 
boys tried to kick it, but could never catch 
it; they called it “dirty beast,” and said it 


128 


Jean Gilles 

was not so blind as it pretended. Nobody 
could boast of ever having touched it. Char- 
iot told me he had been awakened by a night- 
mare the first night he was in the Infirmary, 
and had found the cat lying on his chest. He 
pushed it away, but it returned shortly after 
and lay at his feet. Since then it had con- 
stantly been with him. Presently I saw it, 
crouching at the other end of the apart- 
ment, watching us. I remembered tales I 
had heard of little children being suffocated 
by cats, and of foul animals, bred in hot coun- 
tries, that sucked the blood of sleepers, and I 
begged Chariot to be careful. He was, how- 
ever, evidently longing for me to go; he looked 
invitingly at the cat, and made little coaxing 
sounds at her. She started when I rose, but 
did not run away. 

The drawn blinds diffused a golden light. 
When I drew them aside I saw the distant 
landscape gleaming under the sun. I thought 
I recognised the red roof of La Grangere 
among the trees, and the sight gave me a 
pang. Chariot had already resumed his book ; 


129 


Jean Gilles 

the cat nestled close to his side purring in the 
warmth of the coverlet. I hesitated to dis- 
turb them again and walked out quietly, 
carrying the drawing under my arm. 

Ever since my first week at the College, 
I had been in the special Catechism class 
and had worked my best with the chap- 
lain, a kindly old man who gave us instruc- 
tions twice a week. We saw him no more, 
however, when the time for the First 
Communions drew near. He had entire 
charge of the boys who were preparing for 
that event. There were about ten, all in 
my class; among them were Florent, Gernon, 
Mouque, Terrouet, and some day-boarders. 
The week before the day fixed for the Feast, 
they left the classroom and spent their whole 
time with the chaplain. They were greatly 
envied by the rest of the school. Their meals 
were served separately, and they played in the 
garden under the supervision of the chaplain, 
who readily joined in their games. Often he 
would take them with him to the house of one 


130 Jean Gilles 

of his relations who had a charming property 
in the neighbourhood; there they lunched and 
played croquet. They only rejoined us at 
the evening recreation; but even then they 
remained grouped together, and took a pride 
in their isolation and the observation they 
attracted. They were careful to maintain 
their gravity and to treat any attempt to 
approach them with haughty frigidity. I did 
not venture to go near them; they seemed 
set apart and crowned with a distinction I 
envied. 

A choir was specially trained for the great 
occasion. I was enrolled in it, as were sev- 
eral of the younger boys of my class. Chariot, 
who was back in his place in school, was re- 
markable among us all for the beauty of his 
singing. When he sang in chapel, his lovely 
clear voice seemed to soar far above us, 
echoing melodiously among the rafters. He 
delighted in practising, and hummed the air of 
the solo entrusted to him incessantly. His 
short illness had had the effect of releasing him 
from Coventry, but now it was he who pre- 


Jean Gilles 131 

ferred to be alone and who affected to disdain 
his schoolfellows. I hardly dared to speak 
to him, but I listened with rapture when 
his flute-like voice rose pure and ringing 
above the droning accompaniment of the 
harmonium. 

On the morning of the great day, the play- 
ground was early filled with a well-dressed 
crowd. The mothers were distinguished by 
the smartness of their dresses; the sisters, in 
light frocks and carefully curled locks, pressed 
close to their brothers in the fear of being 
overlooked. The Communicants had re- 
mained behind in the dormitory and filed into 
the chapel last of all. They held rosaries in 
their folded hands and wore a bow of white 
satin on the left arm ; their demeanour was so 
grave that they passed as strangers through 
our staring ranks. Gernon, who, it was said, 
had talked in his sleep the night before, 
walked with his light-coloured eyes gazing 
straight before him, apparently seeing nothing, 
but Terrouet blushed and looked self-con- 
scious, although his heavy black lashes 


132 Jean Gilles 

drooped modestly upon his cheeks; one could 
see that he still belonged to this earth, whereas 
Gernon’s spirit was far away. Chariot stared 
vacantly with bent head and hands crossed 
upon his knees. The chaplain gave a final 
exhortation to those whom he called his 
children; he discoursed of the celestial gardens 
of which they were on this great day the 
spotless fiowers, and of the Lord who was 
about to enter their hearts. The mothers 
knelt, each behind her own son. When the 
priest descended from the altar to administer 
the Sacred Host I noticed that one of them 
was weeping. This turned my mind so 
suddenly and so engrossingly towards my 
own dear mother that the tears rushed to my 
eyes and rolled unheeded down my cheeks. 
My schoolfellows gazed open-mouthed at me 
and I was soon obliged to wipe them away, for 
we had to head the procession out of church. 
The families followed and carried off our 
schoolfellows, of whom we saw nothing more 
that morning. 

Everybody came back to vespers. To my 


Jean Gilles 


133 


great surprise my aunt arrived; she was 
anxious to hear the choir I had told her so 
much about. After the ceremony, the First 
Commimicants joined us at last and gave us 
sacred pictures, signed with their names. 
Mouque gave me one of a chalice festooned 
with flowers; others represented angels or 
holy subjects; Gernon’s bore in golden letters 
the words: “Heaven is in my heart. ” I exam- 
ined them all thoughtfully. The playground 
was filled with the buzz of conversation and 
laughter; the headmaster unbent graciously 
towards grateful parents. The crowd melted 
away gradually, each group bearing a Com- 
municant in its train. 

We stood at the farther end of the play- 
ground under the preoccupied supervision of 
a master, watching the merrymaking and dis- 
cussing it among omselves. I was depressed; 
I felt shut out, left at the gates of a beautiful 
country where others had been admitted; 
the pictures I held in my hand seemed to 
me the tokens of joys I was unworthy to 
share. 


134 


Jean Gilles 

The nights were becoming hot. The big 
boys begged M. Laurin to leave the windows 
open after we were in bed. He refused at 
first, but later he relented on condition that 
we maintained perfect silence. 

Lamps were no longer needed. A subdued 
light filtered in through the great windows. 
We lay quiet, enjoying the gradual lifting of 
the atmosphere and the freshness pervading 
the air of the room. From my bed I could 
see a strip of pale sky which gradually dark- 
ened until at last the stars pierced through. 
The first was tiny and twinkled intermittently, 
so that I could not determine with certainty 
whether it was really there; but presently it 
would grow fixed and others grouped them- 
selves around it. One there was, more bril- 
liant than the rest, whose name I longed to 
know. My mother had taught me to recog- 
nise the Big and Little Bear, Orion and the 
Pleiades, but they were probably higher in 
the heavens, for I never saw them, but I was 
quite content with my star ; it seemed to belong 
specially to me and to say: am shining 


Jean Gilles 


135 


for you— only for you!” If I half closed my 
eyes I pictured one long ray touching my 
lids; I almost thought I could seize it with 
my hands. I christened it ''The Little Bee” 
and used to roll my head about on the pillow 
and pretend it was dancing for me. I talked 
to it, told it my troubles, and gave it messages 
to the Bon Dieu above, till gradually it passed 
beyond the sphere of the window. Those that 
followed did not replace it in my affections. 

Delicious scents were borne into the room 
on the cool breeze. I could distinguish the 
aroma of the flowering limes bordering the 
streets, and that of a garden full of honey- 
suckle across the way; sometimes there was 
the earthly smell of watered soil. M. Laurin 
used to lean with his head out until we had all 
fallen asleep and it was time to close up. It 
soon became unnecessary to petition for open 
windows; the heat became so oppressive that 
it would have been cruel to deprive us of 
ventilation. Thenceforward our good behav- 
iour deteriorated. We burst out laughing 
when we heard the passers-by singing or 


136 


Jean Gilles 


talking; the master had to return to restore 
order. Every evening, a rustle of footsteps 
and fluty voices announced the passing of a 
school of little girls whom their mistresses 
brought back from their walk at nightfall. 
At the sound, we coughed significantly, for 
a fairy-tale had run through the dormitory 
to the effect that M. Laurin was over-fond of 
watching them. Once when we did this he 
shut everything up to punish us, and although 
we grumbled long and loud, we had to go to 
sleep without the windows being reopened. 
After that, he never looked out until we were 
all asleep. When the room was finally shut 
up, he sat down to work in his small alcove 
by the light of a small lamp, but he had to 
discontinue the practice because one of the 
small boys complained that the light pre- 
vented him from sleeping. He therefore re- 
mained gazing absently from the casement 
nearest to his alcove; those who woke up 
pretended he was there all night; I myself 
surprised him once at early dawn, and the 
fable was circulated that he never slept. 


137 


Jean Gilles 

One morning, after a very hot night, I felt 
so exhausted that I begged to be allowed to 
stay in bed. I remained alone in the deserted 
dormitory, weighed down by a heavy torpor. 
Every now and then I opened my eyes for an 
instant and glanced at the woolly clouds sail- 
ing in the crude blue of the sky. Towards 
noon, I woke to the fact that my luncheon was 
on a tray by my side, and the white cat watch- 
ing me from Rupert’s bed. I was not a bit 
hungry, and willingly shared the food with her. 
She reminded me of Chariot’s illness. I did 
not dare sleep again; presently she ventured 
nearer and let me caress her harsh fur. She 
was very nervous, and wriggled under my 
hand, biting it gently and holding it with 
claws half unsheathed. For fun, I rubbed 
her fur the wrong way; I felt my fingers 
tingle; she spat, bounded up, and disappeared. 
Soon after, the sky clouded over; the long 
room grew dark and rain lashed the windows, 
while a distant growling betokened a storm. 
It came up rapidly and presently the house 
rocked imder the claps of thunder and the 


138 Jean Gilles 

swish of torrential rain. I cowered under the 
bedclothes, but the lightning penetrated this 
shelter, and each new roar of the thunder 
echoed in my heart. I would have fled had 
I not been afraid to run through the long 
dormitory with its eight windows illumined by 
the flashes. One terrible explosion made me 
think the roof was falling in and left me half 
dead with fright. But gradually the tumult 
decreased; muffled grumblings receded into 
the distance, but still the rain rustled like 
the flow of a river. I remained oppressed 
and feverish; dusk fell early and with it my 
fears returned. I would have given much for 
even the presence of the cat, but no one 
came, and I lay rigid, with my head under the 
coverings, longing for the hour of bedtime. 
Relief came only with the return of my com- 
rades. Rupert leaned over me to ask if I had 
heard the thunder, and told me the lightning 
had struck a tree in the playground. I hardly 
know which emotion touched me most — ^fright 
at the catastrophe or delight at his conde- 
scension. At last, I fell asleep in spite 


Jean Gilles 139 

of the hum of mosquitoes around my 
head. 

The next day, I persuaded myself I had 
fully recovered my normal health, for I 
dreaded nothing so much as another soli- 
tary day. Also I wanted to see the fallen 
tree. The Seniors were smrounding it when 
we went down, and as it lay in their play- 
ground we had to content ourselves with 
staring at it across the railing. The wind had 
flung it on to the boundary wall, which had 
crumbled under its weight. A semicircular 
breach allowed us to peep through the thick 
leafage of a lime into a large garden usually 
concealed from view by swaying branches 
above the wall. We were filled with a wild 
curiosity to look through the breach. I could 
not resist when, two days later, the tree hav- 
ing been sold and removed, the neighbour- 
ing park became visible. During afternoon 
school, I pretended to be obliged to leave the 
room, and when I had obtained leave I ran 
to the wall. I could not be seen from any 


140 Jean Gilles 

window of the house. I crept towards it on 
tiptoe and pushed my head through the 
opening. A path lay before me which pre- 
sently lost itself among heavy shadows; some 
trees swung languidly in the breeze; a pine 
tree shot straight upward, its horizontal 
boughs seeming to wave invisible forms aside. 
At its foot, close to the pathway, great waxen 
blossoms bigger than a bird reared their 
crests between stiff leaves shaped like the 
blade of a sword. Presently a white form 
appeared, bending here and there as if danc- 
ing; a moment later I was able to distinguish a 
lady in a light gown, plucking flowers. I 
watched until she drew quite near. As she 
rose, she caught sight of me; her arms were 
full of long stalks. Coming closer, she picked 
one of the white blossoms and held it out to me 
with a smile. When I realised that she was no 
wraith but a living person, I grew so shy that 
I fled without a word, carrying with me the 
flower, which I had never seen before, and 
which I afterwards learned was called an iris. 
A delicate scent came from the three curved 


Jean Gilles 


141 

petals ; the veining of the others was hairy like 
a caterpillar. I broke off the stalk, hid the 
flower in my pocket, and returned to the class- 
room, where I ruminated long over the strange 
way the gift had reached me. At evening 
study, I laid it on my table between two books 
that effectually concealed it from the master’s 
view, to feast upon its beauty. It quickly 
became an object of curiosity to the others, 
and under one pretext or another every boy 
got up and came to have a look. In answer 
to Courtot’s questions, I said it had been 
propagated from a rare tropical plant and that 
my aunt’s gardens were full of it. But to 
Rupert I confided the true story, though I 
pretended I had picked it myself in the 
mysterious garden. He promptly asked leave 
to go out, and when to my surprise he returned 
empty-handed, he whispered that he had 
only wanted to make certain where the flowers 
grew, because he intended to go in the night 
and pick them all. 

When we got to bed, I fought my inclination 
to sleep in order to watch Rupert, whom I 


142 


Jean Gilles 

longed to accompany in his audacious expedi- 
tion ; but he was, as usual, one of the first to fall 
asleep, and I was not able to keep awake long. 

I opened my eyes in the middle of the night 
and looked over at his bed. It seemed to be 
empty, and I did not doubt that Rupert had 
gone, so I hastily jumped up and huddled on 
my clothes to join him. The big door at the 
end of the room was the only one locked at 
night; the one giving access to the staircase 
was left open, and it was easy to reach the 
playground by way of it. I was soon outside. 
The thick branches of the elms slumbered 
under a starry sky and a crescent moon. I 
ran from tree to tree, sheltering in the shadows, 
and quickly reached the breach in the wall 
and looked over. There was nothing stirring. 
I called Rupert's name gently, and presently 
ventured to scramble across the crumbling 
stones. I found myself on damp grass which 
wet my bare feet through my thin shoes. I 
crept cautiously along the path. It resembled 
a clear river under the white light of the moon. 
Beyond it, the pine-tree stood like a sentinel 


143 


Jean Gilles 

guarding the mysterious vastness of the park. 
The flowers had not been plucked, so I decided 
that Rupert must be wandering among the 
trees, and lost not a moment in following 
after him. I was at once engulfed into black 
darkness. Trees surrounded me on every side 
and veiled the light of the stars from my sight. 
A waving bough tapped me on the arm. A 
white form appeared on a pedestal beside me 
— again I called Rupert — the thought of his 
near presence held fear at bay. All the same 
I began to think of returning to safety. I 
followed a track at random, but it led nowhere. 
I was lost. A slight noise behind me filled 
me with panic, and I dashed wildly through 
the thicket. Shrubs impeded my passage, 
twigs snapped in my face, footsteps pressed 
upon me from behind; darkness and the 
sense of spaciousness added to my terror. I 
I came to a clearing in the wood above which 
twinkled some stars. I turned in another 
direction. I do not know how I ever found 
my way back to the breach in the wall, but at 
last I accomplished it, leaped through, rushed 


144 


Jean Gilles 

across the playground, mounted the stairs 
helter-skelter, and threw myself on my bed. 
Rupert did not seem to have left his at all; he 
was sleeping soundly, with his broad chest 
uncovered. I felt as if I were waking from 
some horrid nightmare! The dormitory was 
quiet and full of blue shadows dimly revealed 
by the night-light, but I cowered under the 
bedclothes, re-enacting those frantic moments 
of flight, still hearing the phantom footsteps 
at my heels. 

Workmen came on the following day and 
rebuilt the wall. The great garden dis- 
appeared and was replaced by the familiar 
trees above the wall, swaying and nodding 
a secret understanding with me about my 
nocturnal adventiure. 

About this time, Segonde came to the 
school one day with a big basket of cherries 
for me. I sat down at lunch-time beside 
Bereng, who was eating dry bread and 
learning a fable, and invited him to share 
the heap of fruit I placed on the bench be- 


145 


Jean Gilles 

tween us. The cherries were hard and heavy 
and polished like enamel; they dyed our lips 
and stained the slices of bread we munched. 
Bereng threw away the moist stones, flipping 
them between his Anger and thumb. From 
time to time, he glanced at his book; presently 
he handed it to me to hear him his lesson. 
It was Lafontaine’s fable, Les Deux Amis, 
He recited it in detached syllables — 

“ Deux vrais amis vivaient au Mo-no-mo-ta-pa; 
Dun ne possedait rien gui tC appartint d V autre, 
Les amis de ce pays-ld 
Valent hien, dit-on, ceux du notre, ...” 

He had only to learn as far as the following 
passage: 

^'Lequel aimait le mieux; que t*en semhle^ lecteur?'^ 

but I read straight on to the end; the fable 
attracted me so much that I read it over 
again, specially appreciating the last line: 

‘‘ Qu'un ami veritable est une douce chose! 

I called Bereng’s attention to it, and in re- 
turn, after we had gone in to study, he handed 


10 


146 Jean Gilles 

me his book open at a poem on ‘‘Friend- 
ship’’ by Ducis; I smiled my thanks to him. 
Soon afterwards I received a little poem 
expressive of the same idea, and though the 
lines were less musical, they possessed the 
merit of being addressed personally to myself. 
The same evening B6reng grasped my hand 
when the ranks in the dormitory broke up. 

From that moment, we spent our recrea- 
tions together after learning our lessons side by 
side. B6reng told me about his native coun- 
try and described the expeditions he made in 
the holidays; he related romantic adventures, 
to which I listened open-mouthed, till at last 
he burst out laughing and named the book 
he had drawn upon for his stories. He did 
this in such a fascinating way that I found 
no cause for offence, and was just as ready next 
day to hang upon his words. He used to 
become involved in long phrases from which 
he emerged panting, and often some unsuit- 
able word he had culled from his reading and 
used in a wrong sense added pungency to his 
narrative. 


Jean Gilles 


147 

Our alliance was soon observed. Court ot 
published it by bracketing our names together 
on the blackboard. I had to submit to de- 
clamatory compliments from Terrouet, who 
indited an epistle to me containing copious 
allusions to the story of Castor and Pollux. 
He followed me about bowing politely, cap in 
hand, and congratulating M. Gilles on the 
literary taste which allowed him to appreciate 
the beautiful language and romantic imagina- 
tion of the unique historian the College had 
the felicity of possessing. Bereng became so 
angry at his teasing that he stammered hope- 
lessly in his denunciations, which made our 
persecutor laugh more than ever. But the 
boys soon grew accustomed to seeing us to- 
gether and left us in peace. I liked Bereng 
better every day and my submission to his 
leadership flattered him. He used to come 
of his own accord and sit beside me at lunch, 
and I joyfully shared my goodies with him. 
He repaid me with sweets whenever he was 
flush of cash. Once his people sent him a box 
of chocolates. I was with him when he 


148 


Jean Gilles 

unpacked it. It contained round tablets 
packed in tin-foil: ''These are worth five 
francs each/’ he said as he gave me one, and 
I half believed it in my pleasure at receiving 
a present from him. 

The same evening I wrote to my mother and 
told her I had found a friend and should soon 
bring him to La Grang^re. 

Not very long afterwards, I received a 
summons to the parlour during a four o’clock 
recreation, and to my intense surprise I 
found my mother. She folded me tenderly in 
her arms. I learned that my father was ill 
again, and as country air was supposed to be 
good for him, he had come to La Grangdre. 
I was to see him the very next day which 
was Sunday. My mother begged me not to 
bring my friend, and explained that the sick 
man required absolute rest; she also reminded 
me that I must be very good and circumspect, 
so that my presence would prove an unalloyed 
pleasure to my father. I spent the evening 
thinking about him and hoping I should be 


149 


Jean Gilles 

able to simulate sufficient delight at meeting 
him. I called to mind his constant indul- 
gence in the early days of my childhood, his 
demonstrative affection, and the trouble he 
took to gratify my whims. In those days, I 
had even preferred him to my mother. I 
remembered how he tried to teach me the 
piano, in spite of my lack of talent, and how 
my shyness in his presence irritated him. I 
vowed to myself to be natural and to give 
him no cause to find fault with me. I worked 
myself into such a state of nervousness during 
the short drive from the College to the farm 
that, notwithstanding his affectionate recep- 
tion of me, I could not utter a word in reply. 
My eyes fell under his glance, my thoughts 
became confused, and, to my bitter disappoint- 
ment, I was quite unable to show him the 
tenderness I felt. Happily, during that inter- 
view and afterwards at luncheon, my mother 
talked incessantly of my work and my con- 
duct, and repeated what the headmaster had 
said to her the day before concerning me. I 
spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden 


Jean Gilles 


150 

deploring my awkwardness and longing to 
repair it as soon as possible. I heard my 
father trying to tune the old piano, which 
still remained in my deceased cousin’s room, 
with other furniture that had belonged to her. 
But he was obliged to give it up, and went 
out. He did not appear at dinner, and I left 
without seeing him again, for I had to return 
to the College that evening, as my room was 
wanted for my parents, and there had not been 
time to prepare the one in the other wing that 
I was henceforth to occupy. My aunt promised 
it should be ready for the next holiday. It 
was underneath Segonde’s attic and its 
windows overlooked the garden. 

The following Sundays I was able to spend 
the whole day at La Grangere and sleep the 
night as usual. My father was better and 
intended to prolong his visit, so he had sent 
for his piano. It now stood in the drawing- 
room. He played the whole day long. I 
only saw him at meals, but the more indifferent 
he showed himself to my presence, the more 
naturally I was able to behave before him. I 


Jean Gilles 15 1 

loved to listen to his playing in the calm hours 
of the late afternoon; the melody filled the 
shadows with imaginary forms. I pictured 
to myself dances, funerals, warriors on the 
march. Sometimes the piano was silent for a 
moment. My mother had probably taken 
my father a drink or was talking to him and 
advising him to rest. The concert began after 
dinner and lasted long enough for me to go to 
sleep to the sound of the music, for my room 
was just above the drawing-room. I used 
to keep awake as long as I could, especially if 
my mother sang, for I loved her voice and the 
songs my father was so fond of accompanying. 
As I had heard them all my life from a dis- 
tance, I knew none of the words, but the 
music interpreted them quite intelligibly, and 
their tender appeal and mysterious invocation 
excited pleasurable emotions in my heart. I 
often opened the window, at the risk of being 
caught and scolded, so keen was my desire to 
hear more distinctly amid the encircling dark- 
ness. The branches of the trees vibrated, and 
the rustling of their leaves in the fresh breeze 


152 Jean Gilles 

added a harmonious accompaniment to the 
melody. 

The next day I could think of nothing else 
during the long hours of study, and Bereng, 
who always noted my feverish longing for 
Sundays, questioned me closely about La 
Grangere and how I spent my time there. 
One day, during recreation, I sat alone in a 
classroom lighted by a large bay-window of 
frosted glass, against which it amused me 
to try and identify the shadows of the boys 
who passed. Their profiles were distorted 
on the glass and brought to my mind the 
animal to which I compared each of them in 
secret. Two came and stood for some time 
outside. I knew them for Bereng and Cour- 
tot. I could hear their voices quite distinctly, 
and it was not long before I realised they were 
talking about me. Bereng was explaining 
to Courtot that my aunt's continued indis- 
position made it impossible for me to keep 
my promise to take him to the farm; but 
Courtot was sceptical ; he said one of the day- 
boarders had told him my parents were at La 


Jean Gilles 153 

Grangdre. B6reng seemed surprised that I 
had not mentioned it. 

'‘He will never let you go as long as they 
are there,’' said Courtot, and when Bereng 
asked why, he replied: 

" It is not his aunt who is ill, it is his father! ” 

To Bereng’s further questioning, Courtot 
gave no answer at first, but presently I saw 
the shadow of his hand touch the shadow of 
his forehead, and he bent forward to whisper. 

M. Laurin had relinquished the idea of 
going up for his degree. He studied less, 
was irritable, and was impatient with Fortin, 
who had begun to behave badly again. Once 
he muttered a coarse word and M. Laurin 
summoned him peremptorily to the platform. 
Fortin swore he had not spoken, and pre- 
tended not to know what he was accused of. 
The headmaster was informed, and ordered 
him to stay in bed until his memory re- 
turned and he apologised for his insolence. 
The classroom kept count. Fortin held out 
three days, and finally made his submission 


154 Gilles 

in such an ofE-hand manner that he was 
threatened with expulsion for the next fault. 
This he very soon committed, and was forth- 
with returned to the bosom of his family. 

Our set subsided into tranquillity with his 
exit, but now the Middle division began to 
misbehave. The new master had temporarily 
obtained the upper hand by dint of repeated 
punishments, but he was cordially detested. 
The initials P. B. with which he signed his 
corrections had gained him the nickname of 
^^Pelle-Beche''; drawings were to be found each 
day on the blackboard representing this agri- 
cultural implement. Presently these sketches 
were to be found everywhere. Impositions 
were given, and bad marks for conduct lost 
their effect by dint of repetition. Videux was 
in a state of open rebellion and his whole 
division supported him. One morning the 
master was hissed when he entered the play- 
ground. All the boys were kept in until 
three gave themselves up, but the ringleader 
was not among them and he continued to 
organise the disturbances. At length he com- 


Jean Gilles 


155 


mitted the fatal error of writing detailed 
directions to one of his myrmidons regard- 
ing a ‘‘rag” for the following evening. The 
note unfortunately fell into the hands of 
the headmaster. The writer was identified, 
condemned to solitary confinement, and pre- 
sently expelled by order of the Council. 
Still the division continued to give trouble, 
and the master proved unable to make him- 
self acceptable. Besides, the approach of 
the Easter holidays with their deliverance 
from school discipline diminished the fear of 
punishment. Scoldings and impositions were 
less dreaded, and I discovered even in myself 
an imsuspected capacity for frivolling. 

Bereng had given up pretending that all 
the stories he told me had happened to himself, 
and, in order to keep up my interest, had 
created a fictitious hero called Remy, who was 
made to undergo every imaginable vicissitude 
and calamity for my edification. Bereng 
used to compose the story during lesson-time 
and add to it in the narration. Sometimes 
he had a sudden inspiration he was too 


156 Jean Gilles 

impatient to keep to himself, and was fain 
to communicate it by signs. There was a 
constant interchange of telegraphy incompre- 
hensible to the others between us. One 
excessively hot afternoon, our history professor 
finding it impossible to rivet our attention, 
hit upon the plan of reading us some historical 
anecdotes. One of them relating to an adven- 
ture of Charles VI. in the forest of Mans caught 
my fancy. Through the open door into the 
playgroimd I could see the leaves of the trees 
shining golden in the sun and spreading 
dense shadows beneath them; the very birds 
were hushed, but the chirping of the grass- 
hoppers was incessant. Darmis, sitting beside 
me with heavy eyes, lounged half on the 
bench and half on his desk, his long curly hair 
falling over his ears. I imagined him a page 
of the royal suite, accompanying Charles VI. 
on his progress through the forest. Suddenly 
in the story we were hearing, a half -naked 
man springs forward: “Stop, noble sire, thou 
art betrayed!” he shouts. The cavalcade 
is dramatically brought to a standstill. I 


157 


Jean Gilles 

pictured the startled cry of the King, his 
sudden reining back towards his knights, and 
I almost saw the flashing of the hot summer 
simlight on the silver casques. The story 
produced a curious impression upon me, and 
I was still musing instead of listening when 
Bereng turned rotmd and showed me a face 
convulsed with laughter he was trying hard 
to suppress by cramming his fist into his 
mouth. I sat up, amused, and ready for some 
fantastic development of our own private 
narrative, but he was laughing so much that 
he could not communicate it to me. At last 
he seized his atlas, which was covered with 
dark paper, scribbled something upon it in 
chalk, and turned it towards me. I read: 

‘ ' Remy is going to become insane. ’ ’ Whether 
it was the utter unexpectedness of the cata- 
strophe, or the puzzled faces of our comrades 
staring at us both that set me off, I cannot 
tell, but I was seized with imcontroUable 
giggles. The master saw me and called me 
to him. I only recovered my gravity when 
he ordered me to tell him what Bereng had 


158 Jean Gilles 

written. My agony may be imagined. I cast 
an appealing glance at my schoolfellows. By 
ill-luck I caught B6reng’s eye. Another gust 
of laughter shook me so violently that I had to 
lean up against the wall and prop my forehead 
upon my arm. The professor raised my head. 

I could no longer stop laughing, tears poured 
from my eyes, and I tore at my collar to pre- 
vent myself suffocating. The master drew 
me to him, called for water, and bathed 
my temples. The boys were so interested 
that they hardly noticed the bell ringing for 
dismissal, but the master gave them the signal 
and allowed me to stay behind to recover 
myself. 

The days passed slowly. July was draw- 
ing to a close. Already we were reckoning 
up hours, minutes, and seconds; work be- 
came more and more slack, until at last it 
consisted mainly of being read aloud to by 
the masters. Many of the day-boarders had 
ceased to come; others brought with them 
bottles of various shapes full of queer drinks 


159 


Jean Gilles 

with which they affected to refresh themselves, 
but the heat of their hands and the constant 
shaking of the liquids speedily turned them 
into a cloudy foam much less attractive than 
plain water from the fountain. 

The prizes were a daily subject of discussion 
among us. I was hoping for something for 
French, as I had often been second in the class, 
or possibly an accessit for history and geo- 
graphy, and another for grammar. The good- 
conduct prize was generally attributed to 
Mouque. Terrouet expected one for com- 
position; but soon a more important affair 
claimed our attention. The headmaster 
visited the classroom to announce that the 
two divisions would meet separately the 
following evening to vote for the prizes for 
popularity. 

Rupert seemed to be the natural choice for 
our set, and his triumph appeared certain. 
Bereng alone was in opposition. I had never 
told him of my admiration for our schoolfellow, 
but he had guessed it from seeing me stop 
to watch him run, throw the ball, or jump. 


i6o Jean Gilles 

He used to tease me about it and try to under- 
mine my hero-worship for the ‘‘field-rat*^ as 
he called Rupert. He scoffed at his slowness 
in work, and said that his physical strength 
and cleverness in games were not only a poor 
compensation for stupidity, but were in them- 
selves almost a proof of intellectual inferiority. 
He used to try to annoy him by quoting in his 
hearing the fable from which he had borrowed 
his nickname. Rupert was quite indifferent, 
and contented himself with startling Bereng 
by pretending to hit him with the ball. 
B6reng would fling up his arm to protect his 
face, and draw up one leg, but when nothing 
happened, he relaxed his muscles, and Rupert, 
watching his opportunity, chose that moment 
to throw the ball. 

Bereng opposed our selection for the prize 
of popularity with all his might. He even 
did so in the presence of the candidate, and 
made a speech to demonstrate the mistake it 
would be to reward mere physical strength. 
He suggested Daunis, but the consensus of 
opinion was against him. M6jean, Courtot, 


Jean Gilles i6i 

and Terrouet, moved from group to group 
canvassing for Rupert; Terrouet was actu- 
ated less by actual friendship for the candidate 
than by antagonism against B6reng. The 
elder Chariot threatened his brother with 
physical punishment if the little fellow did 
not vote according to the general desire. 
Daunis was indifferent, and made no effort to 
gain a single partisan. At last B6reng, tired 
of the struggle, came to me, and almost 
succeeded in winning me to his side. The 
important moment soon arrived. M6jean 
and Terrouet had prepared cards with 
Rupert’s name inscribed upon them. Courtot 
helped to distribute them. B6reng, who had 
set to work too late, endeavoured to place 
those he had written for Daunis. I received 
both kinds, but I promised B6reng only to use 
his. We assembled after dinner in the labora- 
tory. M. Laurin, assisted by the superin- 
tendent-general, collected the votes and 
proceeded to count them. There were only 
two for Daunis, B6reng’s and his own; a third 
bore the legend: “I vote for nobody.” The 


II 


i 62 


Jean Gilles 

remainder were all for Rupert, including 
mine. I had not foreseen that his rival 
would be so entirely neglected! Bereng 
looked angrily at me, muttered something of 
which I only caught the word “traitor,” 
and walked off arm in arm with his despised 
candidate. He held aloof while Rupert was 
chaired round the playground in triumph. 
I knew I had done wrong, but felt no regret; 
I did not think Daunis unworthy of the honour 
but Rupert’s success pleased me better. The 
latter, however, appeared not to recognise 
that I had in any way advanced his cause, 
and I was entirely ignored by his special group. 
I tried to mingle with it, but was chased away 
as an enemy. I found myself alone. Bereng 
stood apart, gesticulating in front of Daimis; 
Ravet, with his hands in his pockets, scraped 
the gravel with the point of his boot; Gernon 
chased Florent, who was laughing; Chariot 
whistled through his teeth, staring vaguely 
before him. The Senior division presently 
came out from the hall where they had suc- 
ceeded us and proclaimed a severe contest and 


Jean Gilles 


163 

a difficult victory. The bell rang for bed. 
I let all the others pass before me and went up 
alone with a heavy heart and lagging feet. 

The last week began. The contractors 
came to select a place in the playground to 
erect a platform for the official distribution 
of prizes. My days were solitary. Bereng 
was still angry with me. He walked with 
Daunis now and told him stories; when we 
met, he quoted verses from Lafontaine in a 
loud voice. I did not always grasp their 
meaning, but the few words I could remem- 
ber helped me to identify them in the reading- 
book Bereng used. Amongst others he 
borrowed the following verse from the fable 
called Le Villageois et le Serpent: 

II est bon d'' Mr e charitable^ 

Mais envers gui? . . . c' est Id le point, 

Quant aux ingratSy il n'en est point 
Qui ne meure enjin miserable, 

I longed for the holidays. They were to me 
as a gate opening into fields of light, from the 


164 Jean Gilles 

dark corridor where I had yet to spend the 
last lagging days. My heart was centred upon 
them, and I should have liked to sleep until 
their dawning. I was conscious of an atmos- 
phere I could not fathom. Conversation 
flagged at my approach, and when I passed on, 
I felt that unfriendly glances followed me. 
The recreations were a trial. At last I took 
to sitting on the doorstep of a classroom 
watching the others kick up the dust or scatter 
the parched leaves on the ground. Once 
Chariot walked up and down near me as if by 
accident, but it struck me that he had some 
definite purpose in his mind. Presently he 
approached me, feigning to examine something 
he held in his hands. He raised his eyes 
timidly and asked whether I had lost a knife, 
at the same time showing me one of light horn 
with a ring passed through it. I had never 
possessed one like it. Chariot remained near 
me. We talked as if nothing had happened, 
but he was more reserved than usual, and 
somehow the advance he had made left me 
feeling even more desolate than before. He 


Jean Gilles 


165 


pressed my hand when we went into school, 
and smiled in a manner that brought a lump 
into my throat. 

From that moment, we spent most of our 
time together; the others left us more and 
more to ourselves. Men were hard at work 
building the platform. We did lessons only 
in the morning; the rest of the day was spent 
either in the classroom or in the playground, 
though nobody played any more. One day 
I fell asleep with my head on my desk and 
dreamed I was free. The voice of the mas ter 
reprimanding a pupil struck upon my ear with 
an unfamiliar sound and woke me; there was 
a bitter taste in my mouth and my head felt 
heavy. Insects hummed and the sun shone 
upon the trees; the wall-eyed cat ran across 
the courtyard. I came back to hfe with a 
heavy sigh. The bell was ringing for recrea- 
tion, but I should have preferred to remain 
where I was, for my limbs seemed to refuse 
their office. I stretched myself at the foot 
of a tree, where Chariot soon joined me. Otu* 
comrades, grouped in front of the chapel, were 


i66 


Jean Gilles 

apparently discussing some new game. Pre- 
sently they all linked hands and formed a 
long chain with Rupert at their head. They 
began to wind their way among the trees and 
circle round us, the pace increasing gradually 
until they were all running. As they passed 
our tree, Mejean, who was the last, snatched 
Chariot’s arm and dragged him after him. 
At the same time, Rupert made the chain turn 
so suddenly that Chariot, who was at the 
extreme end and could not run fast enough, 
was flung like a stone from a catapult into the 
dust. He picked himself up crying, and 
limped towards the classroom, whither I 
hastily started to follow him, when I saw that 
the same fate was in store for me. I scudded 
along to escape M6jean’s outstretched hand, 
and, luckily for me, he was hampered by the 
others, and failed to catch me. The chain 
then changed its tactics and tried to hem me 
into its midst. It stretched round the entire 
playground; wherever I fled I was menaced 
by grinning faces and jeering voices. The 
master of the Senior division was strolling 


Jean Gilles 167 

down one of the paths, in sole charge of both 
playgrounds; it would have been vain to 
appeal to him for help. I sought again to es- 
cape, but all the living links ran towards me, 
and soon I was surrounded, pressed, bruised 
by knees raised to strike in default of the 
hands which were still linked one to the other. 
Feet trod upon mine, fierce faces spat at me, 
and shouted: “Lunatic’s son!” I hit out. 
With head bent, I kicked and fought desper- 
ately with feet and fists. I was frenzied with 
passion. I no longer felt the blows I received, 
I gave as good as I got. It seemed to me as 
if my enemies possessed but one face among 
them and I rained blows about me indifferently ; 
but very soon I was overpowered by numbers. 
The chain broke up ; I was struck all over the 
head and body and forced backwards. I 
suddenly found myself with my back to a door 
which gave way and precipitated me into the 
front hall. As I picked myself up I noticed 
that the big house door at the farther end 
was open. I made a dash for it. 

The street was deserted under the scorching 


i68 


Jean Gilles 

afternoon sun. I tore along without pausing 
for an instant. It led into the country and 
I ran, with rny ears still tingling from the in- 
sults received, my cheeks burning, my hands 
swollen and bleeding. I was bareheaded. The 
fear of being caught lent speed to my steps. 
I turned towards La Grangere, the only re- 
fuge left to me, and, oblivious of the heat, I 
continued running. The distance was con- 
siderable. I was forced to stop several times. 
My strength was on the point of failing alto- 
gether when I came in sight of the longed-for 
goal. With a final effort I reached the vine- 
yard and passed through it. I arrived at the 
back gate, and stepped into the garden path. 
My mother was sitting under the trees; I 
called to her and stumbled into her arms. 

Three days of fever and delirium followed. 
At first they feared for my reason, but I 
remember nothing but a peaceful floating back 
to life in the half-light of a shaded room, where 
at my first call my mother rose and laid her 
cool hand upon my brow. The prizes had 
been given the day before. Lying on the table 


Jean Gilles 


169 


by my side were a beautifully bound book and 
a certificate earned by my work. The College 
was closed. My mother soothed me tenderly 
and I felt safe in her arms. It was happiness 
enough to find myself at La Grang^re. My 
sole desire was to lounge in the shade, alone, 
in the beloved garden. 


IV 


T he days passed like the flow of a tran- 
quil stream in which the sky is faintly 
reflected. I lay and watched the play 
of sunlight and shadow on house and garden. 
Every morning I dragged a basket-chair under 
the trees and remained there with an open 
book on my knees. My half-closed eyes saw 
very little; the soft breeze fanned my bare 
arms under my linen blouse. The only inter- 
ruption to my dreams came when I had to 
move, to get out of the sun or to obey Segonde’s 
call to a meal. My schoolfellows’ names lived 
in the back of my mind, and if I dropped off 
into a nap they rose to my lips and I started 
up in a fright, as if I had been caught in some 
delinquency; then, when I realised my sur- 
roundings, I smiled and fell back, comforted. 
The hens cackled, the leaves rustled, the roads 
170 


Jean Gilles 


171 

slumbered under the noonday sun, looking 
like spotted snakes where the shade of the 
wayside trees fell upon them. The peace of 
nature calmed my fretted nerves. 

My father showed himself very little. He 
took long tramps in the early mornings and 
dozed during the day. He sat up late at night 
working on a musical composition which 
absorbed his whole thoughts. My nights had 
improved. Segonde, who occupied the attic 
above my room, had been alarmed at first 
by hearing me struggle, scream, and talk in 
my sleep, but gradually the bad dreams faded, 
and I forgot the horrors of those last days. 
I kept my window open, for I loved to fall 
asleep looking at the stars. The scent of 
new-mown hay floated in, the crickets chirped, 
and occasionally the note of the summer frogs 
rose hoarsely. I woke at dawn, to the song of 
the birds. 

The presence of my mother, worried and 
anxious though she appeared, was a constant 
joy to me. I joined her in the garden, where 
she sat embroidering all the morning in a 


172 


Jean Gilles 

pretty pale gown. In her sweet presence, I 
forgot all my troubles, and gathered strength 
and calmness, and if every danger that can 
threaten a little child had burst in at the 
garden gate I should have remained imruflfled, 
so confident was I that no malevolent influence 
could endure within reach of her eye. Seated 
on the ground at her feet, I watched her grave 
countenance, the poise of her hand as she 
stabbed the stretched linen with her needle, 
the flutter of her short-frilled sleeve, as she 
drew the thread through the stuff. If a 
leaf from the chestnut-trees above fell upon 
her work, she flicked it off gently and smiled 
as her eyes met mine. She asked me to read 
her some passages from my prize book. The 
Thousand and One Nights. She shared my 
interest in the wanderings of Aladdin through 
the mysterious halls and the gardens of crystal 
fruit; in the processions of the slaves of the 
Lamp and the servants of the King, in the 
surprised delight of the poor mother before 
the golden dishes served at the desire of her 
son. I paused to discuss with her the appari- 


Jean Gilles 


173 


tion of the genii, the strange capture of the 
fisherman, and the various amazing incidents 
of the talking fishes and the enchanted princes. 
My fingers stuck to the red binding and I 
withdrew them all stained, and then my mother 
would laugh and put out her hands to protect 
her work. 

My aunt seldom joined us before the after- 
noon, as her mornings were taken up with 
accounts and household management. After 
luncheon, she brought out her needlework, and 
we remained comfortably silent, quite content 
to hear no sound but the click of the needle 
against the thimble. I watched the passing 
clouds; sometimes they looked like chariots, 
driving at a leisurely pace, at others, I thought 
I could distinguish animals and naked figures 
nestling in the azure. 

Evening found us in the arbour or at the end 
of the kitchen garden where the atmosphere 
had been cooled by extensive watering. The 
stars twinkled overhead; when one fiashed 
across the blue vault, my aunt made the sign 
of the Cross, saying that a soul was rising from 


174 Gilles 

Purgatory into Paradise. Voices floated in 
from the fields and high-road, and the trees 
threw so dense a shadow across the garden that 
I should have been afraid to walkacrossitalone. 

The summer was hotter that year than 
any I had ever experienced. The afternoons 
were tropical. We were forced to seek refuge 
in the drawing-room behind closed shutters, 
but even there the temperature was stifling, 
and we presently migrated to the entrance of 
the corridor. The door into the garden was 
shaded by a straw blind, through which the 
trees looked vaporous as in a mirage. There 
was something menacing in the density of the 
atmosphere; it deprived me of all energy, and 
weighed upon my head and limbs. My dis- 
comfort was increased by the withdrawal of 
my mother’s presence, for she usually left us 
at that hour to sit with my father, who was un- 
pleasantly affected by the abnormal conditions. 

Sometimes we got off with a mere threaten- 
ing of thunder, but there were several terrible 
storms which caused us much alarm. 


175 


Jean Gilles 

One of them was exceptionally violent. 
The morning had been overcast, but it was 
only towards four o'clock that the tempest 
burst. A sudden darkness overspread the 
country, and a blinding flash of lightning 
rent the skies, followed by a booming clap 
of thunder. We rushed back to the house 
and hastened to close every aperture; my 
aunt would have shut the outside shutters of 
the little sitting-room, but for the fear of 
letting in the rain while so doing. She turned 
her chair to the flreplace, covered her eyes, and 
made the sign of the Cross at every flash of 
lightning. As my father had desired to be 
left alone, my mother remained with us and 
continued working with a placidity somewhat 
reassuring to our jangled nerves; but Segonde, 
rosary in hand, recited an invocation in verse 
already familiar to me, in which I joined: 


Sainte Barbe, Sainte Fleur, 
Par la croix de Notre Seigneur, 
Si Vorage tomhe sur nous, 
Sainte Barhe, protegez rous. 


176 


Jean Gilles 

‘'And all those at sea, '' added my aimt. 

A terrifying glare came in at the window, 
whence we conld see the sky, as it were, one 
huge golden wound. By its light my mother 
was as white as the linen she was hemming; 
my aimt’s face was like wax; Segonde with 
closed eyes looked like a blind woman carved 
in wood. The lightning played incessantly 
and struck several times, and my thoughts 
turned to those terrible days of old when the 
wrath of the Lord fell upon towns accursed in 
the shape of rain, sulphur, and fire. For an 
endless space, as it seemed to us, the lightning 
and thimder succeeded each other; my mother 
had also begun to pray, and I cowered on the 
floor beside her with my face hidden on her 
knees. At last the rain came down, a heavy, 
tropical cataract; for an hour it veiled the 
face of the land and filled the air with rustling 
soimds, but it brought a welcome coolness. 
The window was opened again by dinner-time. 
The borders and thickets exhaled their per- 
fume, the sky grew lighter, all nature breathed 
deliverance and relief. 


177 


Jean Gilles 

My father was unable to work, so he came 
to us at the open door of the damp garden 
and watched the paths all rutted with streams 
of water. There was still some light in the 
sky » hut the thickness of the leaves on the trees 
cast a sombre shade in front of us. Our eyes 
strove to pierce it. A whole nether world 
in movement could be divined among the 
branches with their thousand crackling mur- 
murs. The leaves, temporarily laid by the 
shower, began to raise their heads and shed 
the drops which hung upon their every point; 
the birds broke silence, twittered, and preened 
their feathers; one guessed at the multitude 
of slugs and snails climbing up flower-stems 
and feeding greedily. A bat circled round, 
flapping its wings. 

The lime-trees and chestnuts formed a 
solid, rounded mass, topped by the oscillating 
point of a tall poplar. My imagination 
made the latter the shepherd of his flock, 
watching the distant horizon and the high 
regions where breezes fluttered and stars 
twinkled in the newly-washed face of the sky. 


lyS Jean Gilles 

It seemed to belong less to earth than did the 
other trees, and to quiver earlier than they 
did at a hint of coming shadows, rain or wind; 
those sheltering at its feet were the sensitive 
crowd, ready at the first evidence of alarm 
to rustle and murmur, and give token of 
sympathy. 

The spacious dome above afforded us a 
glimpse of the Waggoner, the Great and the 
Little Bear, the Polar Star, Cassiopeia, and 
other strange signs pertaining to the heavens. 

Fruit was abundant that year and was 
served lavishly at every meal. The plums 
fell to earth in the orchard, and when I 
picked them up and met my teeth in their 
juicy pulp it was warm in the daytime, but 
iced and, to my thinking, far sweeter in the 
mornings. The ants devoured them even 
on the trees. Very soon Gentil’s daughters 
came to collect them and pack them in large 
round baskets, which they carried off, walking 
heavily, one on each side, with the disengaged 
arm outstretched to balance them. The crop 


12 


179 


Jean Gilles 

was sold in the open market after Segonde 
had first taken toll for the household, and 
one morning, when I woke up, the whole 
house was redolent of the odour of boiling jam. 
There were apricots also, rosy red speckled 
with flame-colour, and peaches which my aunt 
picked before they were fully mature and 
placed upon the sideboard of the dining-room, 
where they scented the whole room. The 
ripest were placed on the table in a pierced 
china dish garnished with vine or fig-leaves. 
I loved to let my fingers wander among them 
at dessert. 

We no longer went to the town on Sundays. 
We walked to the neighbouring village to hear 
Mass, and then shut ourselves up in the house 
and did not leave it again. My mother 
occupied herself in filling vases or cutting the 
dead roses from the bushes. My aunt read 
Vespers, and I took the book from her when 
she had finished and skimmed through the 
Gospels. Their simple language opened up to 
me an interesting vista of lakes well stocked 
with fish, reflecting in their calm depths the 


i8o Jean Gilles 

sunny hills above. I felt greatly drawn to 
the Apostles and Holy Women and clothed 
them all in the similitude of my own familiar 
friends. Martha, reliable and capable, was 
like Segonde; I pictured her in the house of 
Lazarus preparing the meal, grumbling at 
receiving no assistance from her sister, or 
hastening to crave her Lord’s intervention 
after her brother’s death, yet failing to disguise 
her doubts when the Master replied: ^‘Thy 
brother will rise again.” To the Blessed 
Virgin I gave the placid brow, thoughtful 
gaze, and firm lips of my mother. My aunt 
was Veronica, because of her widowhood, and 
also in remembrance of her kind act in bathing 
my perspiring face one hot summer’s day. 
For Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus, 
seated at the feet of our Lord, I could not 
imagine a gentler or more dreamy counte- 
nance than that of Daunis ; while Chariot was 
to me the embodiment of the confiding crowd 
that followed the Saviour, lived upon His 
words, fed upon bread miraculously multiplied, 
and would cheerfully have ventured to Him 


Jean Gilles 


i8i 


across the heaving waters. Other faces I 
allotted to the personages of the great Chris- 
tian drama. All my schoolfellows according to 
their character were apportioned the various 
parts. There was only one passage I hated; 
it was when St. Peter, questioned about his 
Master, renounced Him before the servants; 
it brought back to my mind all too painfully 
my own treachery to my friend. 

I was interested also in the Psalms, but 
they were more mysterious and inspired me 
with a fear I did not attempt to explain. 
Often in the midst of my reading. Mile. 
Aurelie or some other friend of my aunt wotJd 
arrive, to return the visits we had paid them 
in the winter. They were all very kind to me, 
patted my cheek, and commented upon my 
likeness to my mother. They loved the 
shade and homeliness of our retreat. The 
evening closed in upon their harmless tittle- 
tattle of town gossip or their relation of the 
morning's sermon ; my mother gathered flowers 
for them, and they would have been pressed 
to stay to dinner but for the presence of my 


1 82 Jean Gilles 

father at the evening meal, and his dislike of 
encountering strange faces. They quite un- 
derstood our difficulty and left early, tact- 
fully offering some excuse for not prolonging 
the visit. Often the dinner-table would be 
carried out on to the terrace. I loved these 
meals under the trees in the dusk of the sum- 
mer day. My father retired early to work, 
my mother and aunt remained lost in thought 
or talking in desultory fashion over the events 
of the day. The light of the candles fell upon 
their faces, insects buzzed around the flames 
and burned their wings. I listened to their 
agonised death-hum as they dropped upon 
the cloth, and the black curtain of night de- 
scended gradually and enveloped us in its 
cool folds. 

Towards the end of August, my father re- 
sumed his early morning tramps and went 
out again at night. Sometimes he even left 
us before dinner. Our presence at the table 
seemed to irk him. He bolted the little 
food he ate and often pushed aside his plate 


Jean Gilles 


183 


before the meal was half over, leaned his 
elbows on the table, and dropped his fore- 
head upon his hands. We relapsed into 
silence, and if I happened to want anything I 
only ventured to ask in a whisper, as if fearing 
to disturb a sleeper. I was more than ever 
careful to guard against the slightest mishap, 
and I hailed the moment of my father’s 
departture as a veritable deliverance. My 
mother and aunt gazed sadly at each other, 
and after one of those long, significant looks, 
my mother would sit staring silently before 
her while hot tears gathered upon her 
eyelashes. 

I went to bed without seeing my father again. 
He had slept through the heat of the day. 
Towards the middle of the night, the sound of 
the piano he played for hours warned me of 
his return home. The harmonies would steal 
at first into my slumbers, permeating my mind 
and influencing my dreams; presently the 
insistent call of the preludes roused me and 
I came slowly back to consciousness with the 
gradually increasing sensation of landing on a 


i84 


Jean Gilles 


happy shore. I enjoyed letting the music 
creep softly into my being and mingle with the 
gentle breeze, the hum of insects, and the rustle 
of the leaves; but gradually it drew me, and, 
leaving my bed, I would lean my elbows upon 
the window-sill to listen. Generally, my 
father played lengthy sonatas, in which the 
initial theme was repeated, amplified, beauti- 
fied with a rich harvest of noble chords; 
passionate melodies suggested a storm break- 
ing over a forest; broader, grander harmonies 
raised the mental picture of a placid lake 
slumbering under a full moon. These would 
be succeeded by an air half gay, half sad, 
ever broken, always resumed, yet ending never. 
My father must have loved the latter dearly, 
for he never tired of playing it. Gradually 
my attention failed and gave way to sleep; 
half imconsciously I still followed the melo- 
dious plaint, and from my flaccid body seemed 
to see an imaginary being, fashioned in my 
own semblance, rise and stand before me in the 
lapis lazuli night. I woke chilled and shiver- 
ing in the humid dawn; the birds were just 


Jean Gilles 


185 


beginning to twitter. I crept into bed with 
chattering teeth, and once my mother herself 
came to my room late in the morning to wake 
me from a prolonged sleep which alarmed her. 

One day I was hopping about the garden, 
kicking a pebble before me along the path 
leading to the arbour. At its threshold 
I started, surprised at the sight of my father, 
whom I had supposed to be in his room as 
usual. He was sitting, huddled up on the 
bench, holding his head in his hands. My 
first impulse was to fiy, but I repressed it 
quickly, walked on, and sat down at the ex- 
treme end of the bench. My father seemed 
to be unaware of my presence. I noticed 
in the sand at his feet a musical stave with 
some notes. The stick with which he had 
traced them rested upon his knees. Sud- 
denly, without raising his head, my father 
ordered me to go. Fright chained me to my 
place, and I could not make a single step, much 
as I longed to escape. The stick cracked in 
his nervous fingers, and he spoke again and 
begged me to go, but so gently that my 


I86 


Jean Gilles 

courage returned; I walked very slowly to the 
door of the arbour, but as soon as I was out- 
side an unreasoning terror lent wings to my 
feet and I ran with all my might. I bounded 
through the garden, jumped the flower-beds, 
and burst into the kitchen, stumbling and 
falling upon my knees. Segonde ran to me, 
looking terrifled. I was so pale that she 
looked out at the door, thinking some one 
must have been pursuing me, then she came 
back and inquired the cause of my terror. 
I did not know what to say, so I moved away 
into the little sitting-room, where I gradually 
recovered myself. 

During the night that followed, the music 
I was listening to stopped suddenly, and the 
sound of voices came to me. My mother had 
gone into the drawing-room. I could not hear 
her words, but her tone was one of appeal. 
She spoke several times without obtaining 
any answer; but one note of the piano, always 
the same, was struck repeatedly. At last 
I thought I heard my father’s voice; then a 
bitter laugh and heart-broken sobs mingled 


Jean Gilles 


187 


with a stormy improvisation which continued 
so long and was repeated so often that I fell 
asleep before it ceased, dreaming that a flight 
of furious birds were pillaging the thickets on 
the property. 

August passed like a brilliant dream and 
tender September enveloped the country. 
Although the quantity of fruit and flowers 
compensated for the melancholy of nascent 
autumn, the shorter evenings, fresher morn- 
ings, and some indescribable change in sky 
and air spoke of the gradual waning of the 
year. Half my holidays were over. The 
days which separated me from school-life 
were about to fall, one by one, like a guard 
overcome. October would bury them in its 
falling leaves and snatch me from my beloved 
La Grangere. 

The swelling grapes of the creeping vine 
attracted the wasps who fastened glutton- 
ously upon them and hummed about the 
doorway in alarming fashion. The vines 
grew heavier and the purple bunches biurst 


i88 Jean Gilles 

through the leaves like little chicks escaping 
from the sheltering wing of the mother-bird. 
The vats were got ready, the grape-pickers’ 
refectory freshly cleaned and aired, the wine- 
press repaired, and in the courtyard the open 
vat diffused its acrid scent. The second crop 
of roses was beginning to flower in the garden. 
The blooms were larger than the early ones. 
They hung on their stalks like over-ripe fruit. 
Some were infested with green-fly. They 
grew in profusion and their perfume lingered 
in the path along which they stood. Their 
curious titles were utterly unsuited to them, 
but had the effect of transforming them into 
personages with separate entities. Segonde 
raved over the abundance of Glorie de Dijon, 
and spoke familiarly of Madame Berard and 
Marechal Niel. La France, a glorious pink 
rose, was the only one I thought suitably 
named, and I was also fond of Souvenir de la 
Malmaison. Bengale roses, which die in a 
few hours, and the old-fashioned, heavily- 
perfumed moss-rose were less popular. They 
were left to fade on their stalks. On the 


189 


Jean Gilles 

other hand, some fine white blooms which grew 
in profusion amongst a mass of leaves were 
greatly appreciated. My aunt used to send 
some every week to the cemetery where her 
husband and young daughter lay side by side. 
My mother told me all about this unknown 
cousin of mine, whose wedding she remembered 
to have attended when quite a child. I knew 
that her room, which was not far from mine, 
had been preserved exactly as she left it. 
I peeped in once when the door was open, 
and found my aunt there. Another time she 
took me in to choose a book, while she dusted. 
The branches of a catalpa tree caressed the 
half-closed wooden shutters through which 
filtered a shadowy green light. A velvet 
prie-Dieu stood under a holy-water stoup near 
the bed; a bridal wreath under a glass case 
adorned the chimney; a faded photographic 
group of young girls with their hair done up 
in chenille nets simpered upon the wall. I 
picked out my cousin among them from the 
description I had heard of her. Her long 
narrow face was slightly turned aside, and 


190 


Jean Gilles 


she gazed vaguely before her with a wistful 
expression. My aunt had often said my eyes 
were rather like her daughter’s, and she re- 
peated this opinion as she flipped a clean duster 
across the glass of the frame. Above the chest 
of drawers hung a bookcase containing a few 
books whose titles in tarnished gilt I scanned ; 
they were mostly books of devotion, such as 
Froment des elus; but there were some girls’ 
stories. Le Journal de Marguerite, Marguerite 
d Vingt A ns, were there, besides Ivanhoe, 
Grazielle, and Les Martyres. These attracted 
me less, however, than did a bound volume 
of illustrated papers which I selected and 
asked leave to carry away. On the fly-leaf 
were some poems written in violet ink. I 
recognised some words my mother occasionally 
sang when I was alone with her: 


Tout le long, le long du ruisseau, 

Lucas marclfiait aupres de Rose, . . . 

And another which I liked still better on 
account of the refrain: 


Jean Gilles 


191 


Attendee qu'ici-has 
Leurs heautes soient ecloses; 

Laissez mourir les rosesy 
Ne les effeuillez pas! 

I showed them to my aunt; she smiled, 
finished dusting the chimney, closed the win- 
dow, and accompanied me downstairs. 

The big book with its stained pages and 
mouldy smell kept me amused for the rest of 
the day. It contained fashion pictures of 
ladies wearing voluminous skirts and tiny 
hats, cooking recipes, designs for embroidery, 
and a serial story which ran through the entire 
volume. Every number closed with an acros- 
tic. I tried to guess a few, but I knew where to 
find the answers, so my patience did not 
prove equal to the task. At the end of the 
volume, I found the Christian name of Odelie 
written over and over again with many 
flourishes, coupled with a surname I did 
not remember ever to have heard. I showed 
it to my aunt. She put on her spectacles, 
leaned over the page, and murmured under her 
breath: 


192 


Jean Gilles 


That must have been done just at the time 
of her marriage. ” 

The setting sun was touching the leaves of 
the trees with gold, and the shadows of the 
trunks stretched indefinitely on the green 
sward. 

One morning I saw a little girl in the court- 
yard and heard that she was a niece of Gentil 
and Maria, who had arrived to spend a few 
days with them. I was forbidden to play with 
her on account of her imeducated accent, but 
one afternoon I inveigled her into the garden. 

She wore a blue and white checked pinafore, 
and her pockets were stuffed as full as Char- 
iot’s. Her stubbly locks were drawn back 
under a round comb. Something in her eyes 
struck me as odd, and upon investigation I 
discovered that she squinted. Her name was 
Zoe. I exhibited my domain with pride, and 
picked some flowers for her. I showed her the 
Organ-Grinder and the Muse. We did not 
play; she entertained me with stories about 
her parents, who lived about half-way to the 


193 


Jean Gilles 

market town on an estate much bigger than 
La Grangdre. The next morning, she came 
again and brought her doll with her. I told 
Zo6 it was very carelessly dressed, and, in proof 
of my words, I pointed to a strange bulge 
in the upper part of the dress. The little girl 
giggled and asked me to guess the reason of 
this inelegant shape. I was about to venture 
a suggestion when the sly look of her crossed 
eyes held me back; I wanted her to speak 
first, but she declined; so we agreed each to 
write down the thought we dared not confide 
to each other, on a piece of paper. We did so 
and exchanged notes. On mine, I had written 
''an abscess”; on hers, I found "a watch,” but 
a word scribbled underneath and heavily 
scratched out showed me that my new 
acquaintance had not betrayed her secret, and 
her meaning smile made me uncomfortable. 

We did not see each other for several days 
after that, but I thought a great deal about 
her. Her crooked sight roused my curiosity. 
I wondered how objects appeared before it, 
and tried secretly to copy her infirmity. 


194 


Jean Gilles 

Segonde surprised me doing so and scolded me, 
telling me that I should squint as badly as Zo6 
if I made fun of her. One afternoon I found 
her in the garden, whither she had accom- 
panied Gentil who was doing a job among 
the fruit-trees. While we sat talking on the 
bench, a sudden impulse made me squint 
again, and I succeeded so well that I turned 
to ask the little girl to applaud my skill; 
but she jumped up and ran away crying. I 
realised I had been unkind and pursued her 
to comfort her. I offered flowers, my knife, 
a book, in my fear lest she should complain 
to her uncle and I be reported at home ; but to 
all my suggestions she only shook her head 
and sobbed the louder, with her knuckles 
to her eyes. I was in despair, when she sud- 
denly looked up with a bright smile and said: 
'‘Let me be your sweetheart!'' Although I 
felt very shy, I swore she should be. She 
dried her eyes, took my arm, and made me 
escort her round the flower-beds and tell her 
the names of all the flowers. She swayed 
along languidly, pretending to hold up her 


13 


Jean Gilles 


195 


frock, although it only reached her knees, and 
begged me to tell her whether that was how 
fine ladies behaved. We sat down, and, in a 
pause of the conversation, she asked whether 
I had ever seen a lunatic. She stared so 
meaningly at me that my eyes fell before hers; 
but I made a negative sign with my head, and 
inquired whether she had had that experience. 
She assured me she knew a house where there 
was one, and shook her head mysteriously when 
I begged her to tell me where it was. Then 
she jumped up and pretended to imitate an 
attack of madness; she threw herself about, 
with her lips falling loosely apart and gibbered, 
with outspread arms. Segonde surprised her 
in the act, reproved her severely for her bad 
conduct, and called me in to my limch. She 
kept me with her, scolded me for my dis- 
obedience, and by the time I was able to 
escape, Gentil and Zoe had left the garden. 

I saw her twice again. She knew quanti- 
ties of games and could invent others, or 
else introduce such variations that one never 


196 


Jean Gilles 


tired of pla3dng at anything she suggested. 
Sometimes I was a jeweller with a collection 
of precious stones for which she bargained ; or 
a guide leading her on a voyage of discovery 
along the paths. Another time she played 
at making me guess from her gestures what 
trade she was enacting; but we had another 
game we much preferred to that. Sitting 
beside her on the bench, I drove an imaginary 
team which I tu*ged into a gallop with voice and 
whip, and which bore us rapidly through far 
coxmtries. The journey was full of incident; 
sometimes my companion found the sun too 
hot; at others, a terrible wind forced her to 
clutch frantically at her cloak and hat; we 
slowed up to climb a hill or pierce our way 
through a dense forest, where we were at- 
tacked by brigands; then came the agonised 
delight of a frenzied descent. My companion 
threw herself backwards, grasping the seat 
with whitened knuckles and eyes of terror. 
Once she shrieked that we were upsetting, 
and pulled me to the ground with her. She 
lay motionless, and intimated that she was 


197 


Jean Gilles 

in a dead faint; she said I might come to 
her assistance, for I had only sustained a 
simple fracture of no importance. I dragged 
her to the arbour, which represented an inn. 
She instructed me what to do for her, and 
begged for water in feeble tones. When I 
brought some in the hollow of my palms, she 
was away in full gallop ; neighing sounds from 
among the trees led me in her direction, and 
I had to tear after her, for she had become 
one of the horses nmning away. 

Her face was full of expression and humour, 
and unconsciously I began to love her. When 
we were running our hardest she would stop, 
shake her untidy little head, pull out her comb 
and push it back into the tangle of her hair. 
When she talked she betrayed her vanity by 
telling me of the sumptuous dresses she 
possessed. She described them in extravagant 
terms. Gold and pearls formed the least 
part of their decoration; when she had ex- 
hausted her superlatives she would express 
their fabulous richness by a curious little way 
she had of biting her nether lip and glancing 


198 Jean Gilles 

at me sideways with her best eye, shaking her 
head slowly. I believed every word, and 
longed to set eyes on all these beautiful things. 
But she said her parents had forbidden her 
to bring them to the country, and that was 
why she was so plainly dressed. Still she 
promised to come back some day and over- 
whelm me with her splendoiur. 

The time came for her to return home. 
Maria brought her to us one morning to say 
good-bye. She had taken off her check pina- 
fore and wore a green frock with a black waist- 
belt and a silver cross upon her breast. I 
was quite moved to see how contentedly she 
put up with her modest attire. The grown- 
ups tried to induce her to chatter, but she 
maintained a reserve of which I secretly 
approved. My aunt offered her a few trifles, 
which she consented to accept, but in so 
ungracious a manner that Maria reproved her 
for her awkwardness and threatened to take 
her away. I cannot account for my sensa- 
tions at the realisation that Z06 was about to 
leave La Grangere; all I know is that the 


199 


Jean Gilles 

tears rushed to my eyes and I implored them 
to leave me my friend. My mother and 
aunt were immensely amused at my sudden 
passion, and Maria openly made game of me. 
The three laughed still more when I protested 
vehemently that I would marry Zoe and none 
other. She, however, gave no sign of grati- 
fication, but stood rubbing the floor with the 
tip of her shoe; she was somewhat embar- 
rassed at being thus discussed before her face. 
I was allowed to kiss her, and received the 
assurance that my request should be duly 
considered. She submitted her cheek to my 
embrace and left the room with a curtsey, 
without having once relaxed into a smile. 

I missed her dreadfully when she was gone, 
and began to reckon, almost with terror, the 
passing of each day that brought me nearer 
to school. As if to aggravate my trouble, the 
great heat returned, and served to remind me 
not only of the beautiful days already flown, 
but also of the dreariness of the lessons to 
come. I had to finish my holiday task, of 
which, so far, my mother had only let me 


200 Jean Gilles 

write a few pages. She made me settle to it 
every day after luncheon, when she went up to 
my father. My aunt sat down to her sewing 
with the avowed intention of superintending 
me, but she used to fall asleep almost at once; 
her gentle snoring betrayed her. Then, in the 
great silence, I listened to the sound of foot- 
steps in the room above; I heard the murmur 
of voices, sometimes broken by a heavy sigh, 
and gradually the drowsiness of the hour of 
siesta overcame me; the ticking of the clock 
and the hum of a wasp which had come in 
through a chink in the shutters became part 
of my dream. 

At the beginning of September, I already 
felt as if we had reached the end of the 
month. One by one, the days eluded us, like 
unfaithful guardians. October called them, 
and each one fell like an obstacle the less 
between happiness and my dreaded return 
to school. I began to live in a painful state 
of agitation, so that I talked in my sleep at 
night and cried out the names of my school- 


201 


Jean Gilles 

fellows, and thus revealed to Segonde, who 
slept above, the full extent of my anguish. 
I did not want to see either Daunis or Chariot 
ever again. I felt I could not face Bereng 
or Rupert. The remembrance of their faces 
caused me insurmountable aversion; more- 
over, school-life appeared to me a narrow and 
mechanical round, the very thought of which 
disheartened me. I pictured to myself the 
dormitory, the early rising by artificial light, 
the sleepy study at dawn, the interminable 
evening lessons, the noisy recreations in 
which I had no share, the hostility of those 
last days, the bullying of the big fellows, 
and my languid submission to it. In my 
imagination these all took shape and caught 
me in a web which drew ever tighter and 
tighter around me. I wondered how I 
could ever have borne the life, and any 
suffering seemed preferable to the necessity 
of retmning to it. I suffered so much 
at the thought that at last I summoned 
up courage to pen my heart to my mother; 
but she only chid me gently and regretfully 


202 


Jean Gilles 

for what she called the caprices of a spoiled 
child. I realised my helplessness and fell into 
profound depression. 

The grape-picking season had begun; my 
aunt was very busy and held endless confer- 
ences with Gentil. My mother seemed to 
have withdrawn further into herself and to 
live more and more for my father, who claimed 
her attention every moment of the day. Only 
Segonde pitied and tried to comfort me. She 
was in the midst of her annual jam-making. 
She sometimes took up her position outside 
the kitchen, with a big copper cauldron, into 
which she threw the fruit, peeled and cut 
in quarters. I sat at her side and handed 
them to her one by one. Enormous quinces 
left their down and acrid perfume on my 
fingers. While she peeled, Segonde told 
me some peasant story — Jean le Sot and 
his or Eglantine the Shepherdess^ under 
whose fairy feet the grass did not bend. 
She also knew a melancholy little roundelay 
I was fond of, and often asked for. It began 
thus: 


Jean Gilles 


203 


En reuenant des noces, 

Tetais bien fatigue; 

Au hard d^une fontaine 
Je me suis repose, , , . 

There was a passage I liked specially: 

Chantej Rossignol, chante, 

Toi qui as le coeur gai , , , 

Car moiy je ne Vai gulre; 

Mon ami nUa laissel , , , 

A hen which had been hunted out of the 
roost by the others was wandering about the 
garden. The smell of the ripe fruit attracted 
her; she did not venture near the heap of 
peelings, but stood looking at us suspiciously 
out of each of her eyes in turn, seemingly 
cogitating within herself. I threw her a few 
bits of skin. At first she was frightened, but 
presently she returned, picked them up and 
tore them to shreds with her hard beak. The 
song continued thus : 

Mon ami m'a laissi . . . 

Pour une simple rose, 

Queje lui refusai! 


204 


Jean Gilles 


The grape-picking brought a number of 
tramps about, in quest of work. Some of 
them came right up to the house; when they 
saw us sitting in the garden they stopped at 
the gate and spoke through the bars, begging 
to be engaged. Segonde looked them over 
with an experienced eye, shook her head, and 
told them our numbers were complete. She 
was quite correct, because we employed the 
same people every year to gather in the crop. 
Sometimes some of the tramps she thus dis- 
missed asked for alms or fruit. I was glad 
to carry it to them, being somewhat ctuious 
to investigate their condition. I used to 
watch them walk away, their feet trailing in 
the stony path. I pretended that their wallets 
were crammed with dead leaves which they 
were going to strew about the roads in honour 
of the approaching month of October. 

Sometimes a fine drizzle fell towards evening 
after a grey day. Sheltering by myself in 
the little sitting-room I watched the shadows 
creep through the courtyard and gradually 
blot out the distant view. Voices could be 


205 


Jean Gilles 

heard; the cow ambled home, dragging her 
hobble; a distant bell clanged, sounding closer 
because it was wafted on the wings of the 
west wind. I loved that hour, but the re- 
membrance of my approaching departure left 
me depressed and prone to weak tears which 
I had difficulty in repressing when darkness 
filled the room, and Segonde delayed bringing 
in the lamp. 

There came a morning whose memory was 
to remain for ever engraven upon my heart. 
The dawn woke me gently as usual. I went 
out early with the desire of living every 
minute of the few days left to me. As I 
left the grounds and went into the meadow, 
I looked back at the house. The shutters 
of my father’s room were closed, but the 
next window was half open, and my mother 
stood in the embrasure, brushing her long 
hair. I called to her in a low voice. She 
smiled, put one finger to her lips, and signed 
to me to come back into the garden. I sup- 
posed my father was asleep. He had seemed 


206 


Jean Gilles 

much quieter during the past week, and had 
shown himself indifferent to many things 
which formerly had roused his anger. He came 
once more to meals, and although he was as 
silent as usual I found it more possible to be 
myself without risk of annoying him. He 
lived our life, went out very little, retired to 
bed when we did, and stayed there all night 
without rising to play the piano, so that his 
music no longer lulled me to sleep. Still 
my mother never left him. He had gone into 
the garden with her the day before, and as he 
passed a tree under which I was sitting reading, 
he paused to look at my book and lay a hand 
caressingly on my hair. He had spent the 
evening with us on the terrace, and when we 
parted had drawn me gently towards him as 
if to kiss me. I was thinking over these things 
and rejoicing, when I saw at my feet a little 
bird fallen from its nest, with outspread flutter- 
ing wings. I took it up ; it pinched my Angers 
with its sharp little claws, and stared at me 
with dilated, terrified eyes. It was a baby 
martin, which had dropped upon the path and 


207 


Jean Gilles 

was unable to raise itself again. I ran into 
the house to exhibit my prize. My mother 
was downstairs and was sewing near my aunt 
in a neglige, waiting till some sound from above 
should warn her of my father’s awakening. 
I played with the bird and tried to feed it 
with flies. It would not fold its wings, 
but left them spread wide upon the table 
like two broken springs, and its whole body, 
from its tail to its flat head, shone steely 
blue. 

The time slipped away. My mother was 
engrossed in her work, and I in my silent con- 
templation of the little quivering creature. 
The clock struck half -past nine and still there 
was no soimd from the upper floor. The 
continued silence attracted my mother’s at- 
tention at last. She became anxious and 
resolved to investigate. She went up by the 
little winding staircase, but immediately came 
flying back to us. When I saw her face I felt 
my own features contract into the same look 
of anguish that filled hers. My father was not 
in his room! She cried out to Segonde to go 


208 


Jean Gilles 

and search the garden; she herself ran to the 
kitchen which opened on to the woodyard and 
the high-road; but, as if struck by a sudden 
inspiration, she turned, rushed through the 
dining-room, tore open the door into the 
front hall and went in. We could hear her 
footsteps clattering on the tiles; she must 
have gone right up to the well of the stair- 
case; the hoarse scream which broke the 
silence froze my blood and brought my aunt 
to her feet. The woman who stumbled back 
into the sitting-room had lost all semblance 
to my mother; an unfamiliar voice wailed in 
anguished tones: knife — some men — 

call somebody — Segonde, who was just 
coming in, dashed out; my aunt tore open 
the window and pulled frantically at the 
big bell with one hand while she gesticulated 
wildly with the other. Justin was the first 
to arrive. He sprang into the room and fol- 
lowed her into the passage, banging the door 
behind him. 

I remained alone, trembling, listening to the 
sounds which came from the echoing hall: 


209 


Jean Gilles 

brief orders in low tones, suppressed ejacula- 
tions, heavy footsteps, the laboured breathing 
of a man climbing the stairs step by step, 
staggering under a heavy burden. 

When I saw my father again, it was by 
the dim light of a church candle placed near 
the bed on which he reposed in my mother’s 
chamber; his face had lost its look of strain, 
and wore the serene expression of one at in- 
finite peace. My mother knelt at his pillow, 
weeping unrestrainedly; heavy sobs shook my 
frame. She was overcome with despair, for 
she reproached herself bitterly for having left 
him by himself. My aunt endeavoured vainly 
to reason with her, and herself broke into 
helpless tears in the midst of her exhortations 
to courage. 

The house was soon filled with people. 
Maria and her daughters were busy in the 
kitchen; Segonde moaned and gave endless 
directions which she interrupted at my ap- 
pearance to strain me silently to her bosom. 
People came and were shown upstairs without 


14 


210 


Jean Gilles 

a word. Mile. Aur61ie arrived, and at the 
sight of her, my aunt wept afresh, in her arms. 
My mother, who only prayed to be left in peace, 
was obliged to submit every moment to having 
her hands pressed or her cheeks kissed. She 
submitted dumbly at last to this additional 
torture; the self-invited guests sat in a circle; 
as soon as their numbers decreased she began 
again to blame herself aloud and to speak to 
my father as if he could hear her. M. le Cure 
and the doctor had arrived at once, together, 
and my aimt had held a long conversation 
with them in the mortuary chamber. To- 
wards evening the watch was organised. 
My mother refused to take any rest, and my 
aunt would not leave her by herself. Mile. 
Aurelie and another intimate friend also 
remained. For my part, I could not have 
felt safe anywhere else and I begged not to be 
sent away. The following night was a repeti- 
tion of the first; my mother would not hear 
of giving up her place at her husband’s side. 
She was somewhat calmer, but every now and 
then, as if suddenly realising her wretchedness, 


2II 


Jean Gilles 

she hid her face in her hands and tried vainly 
to obtain the relief of tears. My aunt, broken 
with emotion, was forced at last to retire to 
her own room. Segonde and Maria remained 
with their rosaries in their hands, looking like 
nuns under their black kerchiefs, with the light 
of the yellow wax candle falling upon their 
withered faces. The great silence from out- 
side penetrated the death-chamber and was 
broken only by the loud cracking of the old 
furniture. I held my breath in the mad hope 
that my father would moan or move or call. 
Whenever I ventured to look upon his face, I 
thought I saw it quiver. I was torn with re- 
morse. I accused myself of not having loved 
him enough and of having been foolishly fear- 
ful in his presence; the feeling that it was too 
late ever to repair my failing threw me into de- 
spair. I had been placed in the shadow in 
a large arm-chair. By midnight I fell asleep. 
When I awoke, the icy breath of dawn was 
filtering in through the open window. The 
servants slept. Only my mother sat watching 
still, with wide eyes and spirit far away. The 


212 Jean Gilles 

face on the pillow had undergone a terrifying 
alteration. 

A paralysing depression fell upon us when, 
after duly carrying out the funeral cere- 
monial, we endeavoured to resume our ordi- 
nary habits. My mother remained for hours 
in a condition of semi-consciousness, broken 
by horrible nightmares, which prevented 
her from enjoying any real repose. Nothing 
on earth would have induced me to return 
to my distant bedroom. From the very 
first evening, I resumed occupation of the 
dressing-room adjoining her chamber. She 
seemed not to notice my presence near her; 
if I attempted to kiss her she pushed me from 
her with a gesture which reminded me of 
my father’s peevishness and cut me to the 
heart. 

No one spoke out loud. My aunt developed 
a very maternal manner and watched tenderly 
over my mother; Segonde seconded her un- 
obtrusively and did the work of three. How- 
ever, the time for the grape-picking had 


213 


Jean Gilles 

arrived and no circumstances could be permit- 
ted to delay it. The stir it created about the 
house helped to restore us to a more normal 
condition. Gentil and Justin referred endless 
business points to my aunt. They used to 
come to the little sitting-room, cap in hand, 
evidently reluctant to invade our privacy but 
confident of their right to do so. Sometimes 
my mother was alone and found herself obliged 
to attend to them and participate in the uni- 
versal bustle. When she saw how much my 
aunt's health was enfeebled by the recent 
tragic event, she realised her duty and set 
herself to assist her; but the austerity of 
her countenance betokened that her spirit 
was entirely engrossed by its torturing 
memories. 

When we returned to our rooms after dinner, 
she used to fling herself on her knees at her 
bedside and abandon herself to the bitter 
tears she had repressed all day. Sounds of 
merry-making reached us from the grape- 
pickers' refectory and could not of course be 
prohibited after their day's work was over. 


214 


Jean Gilles 

It hurt me to hear them and to think that their 
distant gaiety should dare to intrude upon our 
grief. But my mother heeded it not at alk in 
her prayerful absorption. She forgot even 
my existence and allowed me to go to sleep 
without her good-night kiss. 

When I grasped her utter indifference and 
her complete isolation of spirit, a great resigna- 
tion descended upon my soul. I no longer 
noted the flight of time and I became unde- 
cided as to whether I desired to remain or to go. 
The great sorrow which had come into my life, 
and the black clothes that bore testimony to 
it, placed me in a mental isolation that no 
further stroke of fate could penetrate. I felt 
impervious to mockery and indifferent to the 
harsh treatment I had so dreaded. Fanciful 
troubles were submerged in real tribulation. I 
no longer dreamed of appealing to my mother, 
and when my aunt reminded her of the 
necessity of looking over my school clothes, 
I continued reading by her side without giving 
any utterance to my reluctance to return to 
College. The end of the holidays came ever 


Jean Gilles 215 

nearer, till at last the time still left could be 
counted by hours. 

Nevertheless, the last day did not dawn 
without a slight breaking down of my 
new stoieism. The sun reached my window 
early. Two long shafts projected themselves 
through chinks in the shutters, touched my 
pillow and lit it with gold. I dawdled late in 
bed, remembering gloomily that a hasty up- 
rising awaited me next morning. Very few 
hours of liberty remained to me. I wished 
that the rays falling across my bed might 
be rungs of an enormous ladder by which 
I could escape. The idea of flight had not 
before occurred to me. My thoughts dwelt 
upon it for an instant; but whither could I 
go, all alone? Besides, my happiness belonged 
here; it was centred in my home, in the peaee- 
ful hours under the shade of our own f amiliar 
trees. It was La Grangdre I loved. My only 
desire was never to leave it again. 

At last, I opened the shutters. I saw the 
fields bathed in azure, above which woolly 


2i6 


Jean Gilles 

vapours floated. In the distance, I could 
distinguish moving dots of colom among the 
vines which I knew to be grape-pickers. It 
was a fresh morning and the soimd of their 
laughter was borne to my quickened senses 
upon the light breeze. I was enjoying my 
leisurely awakening for the last time; not 
again would the sun thus shine for me and the 
zephyrs murmur over the land of my pre- 
dilection. I would fain have gathered these 
beauties in my arms, and from the bottom of 
my aching heart I prayed for some miracle to 
interpose and prevent my departure; yet, 
although I thus gave free rein to my fancies, 
I was well aware of their futility. The cer- 
tainty that this day really and truly marked 
the end of my freedom inspired me with a 
sudden impulse to make use of its every 
moment. I went down to the garden and 
busied myself collecting the dead leaves with 
a rake, lifting them into a barrow, and wheel- 
ing them to the kitchen garden. When I 
had finished I set fire to the big heap. Smoke 
smothered the flames and choked them back 


Jean Gilles 


217 


to burn inside, while only a slender white 
thread betrayed the inward conflagration. 
The garden looked as if it had been swept. 
Very few flowers remained in it : roses, checked 
in their blossoming by the cold nights, long 
trails of creepers swaying under the weight of 
their blooms. In picking some, I found among 
their leaves a ribbon I recognised as having 
belonged to Zoe. She often let one drop from 
her over-full pockets and we had searched 
in vain for this one. It brought back to me 
the memory of my friend. I wound it round 
my finger and thought sadly of her who was 
unaware of my heavy loss. Segonde’s song 
returned to my memory: 

Je voudrais gue la rose 

Fdt encore au rosier ^ 

Voyez. 

Et gue le rosier meme 

FUt encore d planter. 

FUt encore d planter! 

Then with her ribbon I tied up the bunch 
of flowers I destined as an offering to the 


2I8 


Jean Gilles 

Muse, because Zoe had liked and admired it, 
called it The Lady, and treated it always with 
reverence. The Organ Grinder also received 
a few blossoms. The ivy at the foot of the 
wall still attracted a few bees and gave out its 
acrid odour. I collected snails for the hens 
and added some grapes, for which they fought 
greedily. I went on to the courtyard. Maria 
was drawing water. I tried to help her carry 
the bucket and she allowed me to do so with 
a kindly smile. She was preparing the family 
meal, and began to cut up bread for the soup. 
She pressed the huge loaf to her breast, encir- 
cling it with one arm while with the knife in 
her right hand she pared off thin slices; the 
boiling water was hissing in a copper at the 
back of the wide-mouthed chimney. The wish 
seized me to taste this peasant mess and I 
begged for a plateful of the soup. I ate it 
with relish while Maria stood by and pre- 
tended to commiserate my starved condition. 
I must say I did not do much justice to my 
aunt’s luncheon afterwards, and my want of 
appetite was presumably ascribed to my grief. 


Jean Gilles 


219 


for I was not pressed, as I usually was, to eat 
more than I wanted. Just then, I began to 
feel so sorry for myself that I resolved to make 
a final appeal to my mother for the boon I so 
ardently desired; I persuaded myself that 
dessert would be the most propitious moment, 
so I waited; but dessert came and went, and 
still I had not summoned up courage. Then 
I fixed the arrival of the coffee as the signal 
for me to speak, but it was drunk without my 
venturing to open my lips. I refiected that 
my mother would presently settle to her 
sewing and I should have an opportunity of 
pleading my cause. I sat down in the dining- 
room to look at a picture book, but a better 
way of spending the interval before the desired 
interview occurred to me. I had not ventured 
into the corridor since the death of my father, 
and I did so now with creeping flesh and cold 
shivers; the reflection of the stained glass lay 
upon the tiles; my steps echoed in the silence; 
I entered the drawing-room. The dreary 
apartment was in its usual condition of tidi- 
ness; I saw the familiar prismatic colours re- 


220 


Jean Gilles 


fleeted in the looking-glass at a certain angle ; 
the pictures on the walls stared at me with 
their air of disapprobation; the clock had 
stopped; the locked piano looked dead. A 
few dry leaves from the catalpa tree had blown 
in through the half-open windows; they re- 
sembled withered hearts; I picked up one which 
still preserved some remnant of softness and 
went out. I ran up the staircase to visit my 
former bedroom, but found the door locked and 
went away disappointed, pausing for a moment 
before the big window on the landing to look at 
the view. While I stood peering through the 
scanty foliage of the chestnut trees the voices of 
my mother and aunt came to me from below. 
I listened. My mother observed that she had 
finished looking through my clothes the day 
before and found nothing missing. She added : 

“Everything will do again for this year, 
thank goodness, though the little fellow wears 
out his things very fast.” 

My aunt remarked: 

“He is perfectly wretched about leaving 
you, poor child!” 


221 


Jean Gilles 

'‘So am L I cannot bear to lose him/’ 
answered my mother. ''But I must hide my 
sorrow from him — ” Then she went on. 
"Later he will be able to realise how I should 
have loved to keep him with me. Could I 
have done so, I should have been better able 
to bear my sorrow.” 

"I have known solitude even greater than 
yours,” said my aunt, "yet I have lived 
through it. You must pray.” 

"I do pray,” my mother replied, "but I 
am sorely tried!” 

"Keep up your heart,” continued my aunt, 
"and put all your hope in the child who is left 
to you.” 

"He is, ” my mother declared gravely, "the 
only thing that still knits me to life. My 
future is entirely merged in his.” 

Nothing further reached my ears. The 
wind moaned softly among the leaves. I 
did not need to listen further. My mother 
would mourn my absence, and she loved 
me alone! It was the dawn of a new life 
to me. I knew now that the keenest part 


222 


Jean Gilles 

of my past suffering had been the feeling that 
she was indifferent to me, and that my pres- 
ence and affection counted for naught in her 
eyes. I went down and sat beside her on a 
low stool. I no longer wished to evade the 
return to school; I reminded myself that by 
the next day I should be bereaved of all I so 
dearly loved, but a serene courage upheld me — 
I was prepared to accept whatever life might 
hold in store for me. My mother’s eyes rested 
upon mine and I looked at her. She stroked 
my cheek with her soft hand and tried to 
smile; my whole heart went out to her in the 
earnestness of my gaze. 

Segonde passed carrying a cauldron which 
she began burnishing with earth. The noise 
she made started the hens cackling. The 
scent of burning leaves came from the kitchen 
garden where my heap was still smouldering. 
My mother resumed her needle and I went on 
with my book. 

Thus the day passed in a succession of rapid 
incidents on which I dared not endeavour to 
lay a detaining hand. The wind freshened. 


223 


Jean Gilles 

My aunt preferred to go into the house; my 
mother accompanied her, but I remained 
alone in the dying light under the trees whence 
the leaves dropped heavily, one by one, to the 
ground. Once more I walked round the 
garden; I visited the friendly statues at whose 
feet my flowers lay wilting; for a trifle I 
would have kissed them and thrown my arms 
around the massive trunks of the chestnuts. 
I returned to the bench whereon I had carved 
my name a year ago with the point of my knife ; 
the paint around was flaking off. I sat down; 
the sky was turning to gold in the autumn 
sunset, the scattered clouds were crimson, 
the scent of the burning leaves grew more 
pungent with the approach of night. Winter 
was being heralded in. I dwelt upon the 
opening days of my sojourn at La Grang^re, 
the long evenings by the fire, my readings 
under the hanging lamp, the prayers in 
common, and that intimate home life which 
was about to proceed without me and of which 
I should henceforward only catch fleeting 
glimpses on Sundays, with the ever-present 


224 


Jean Gilles 

pang of having to leave again at once. Just 
then a gust of wind shook the little gate of the 
property; it blew open, creaking on its hinges. 
Through the gap my eyes followed the road 
winding away into distance between the 
darkened fields. It was the one I should have 
to follow in a space of time so short that only 
one night separated me from it. But all I 
now experienced in my heart was a docile 
consent, a fathomless longing to serve, before 
whieh my presentiment, that the eoneentrated 
hostility of life awaited me beyond the 
threshold of the garden, died away into 
impotence. 


THE END 


Ji Selection from the 
Catalogue of 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 


Oomplete Catalogue sent 
on application 




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The 

Folk of Furry Farm 

By 

K. F. Purdon 

With an Introduction by 

Geo. A. Birmingh2un 

72 °. $1.35 net 

Very little has hitherto been heard 
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midland plains of Meath, which Miss 
Purdon has marked in this book for 
her own. She has, in a sense, dis- 
covered a peasantry which is new to 
English readers. Its characteristic 
pathos and humor mn through her 
story of life in Ardenoo. 



CKildren 
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By 

Francis William Sullivan 

12\ $1.35 net 

This robust tale of the northern woods, 
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A Syrup of the Bees 

By 

F. W. Bain 

Author of **A Digit of the Moon,” “A Draught 
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By Humfrey Jordan 

Author of “The Joyous Wayfarer,” “Patchwork 
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